


Heat Wave

by Winnywriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Big Bang Challenge, Bottom Dean, First Time Bottoming, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Self-Worth Issues, Skinny Dipping, Summer Romance, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnywriter/pseuds/Winnywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an old cabin in the woods, a worn and weathered thing, tucked away from prying eyes and unwanted responsibility. Officially, it's the Novak family's summer vacation home, but for a few days during the summer after graduation, Cas and Dean make it their own, spending their days dozing and swimming and hunting for snipes. The heat is relentless, the mosquitoes even more so, and it's the perfect place for Dean to settle into a niche he never thought he could fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DCBB 2014
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful [deanghostchester](http://deanghostchester.tumblr.com/) for being my beta. Header and illustrations done by the lovely [thunderjellyfish](http://thunderjellyfish.tumblr.com/). See all of the glorious artwork all in one place [here!](http://thunderjellyfish.tumblr.com/post/99049197792/title-heat-wave-author-winnywriter-artist). (Contains spoilers!)
> 
> This fic started from an RP done with a friend a few months ago, and somehow turned into a nearly 40k word story. Oops. Thanks, Cam!

As the cabin came into view, Dean had an epiphany. This was where his life was going to change.

The tires crunched over the gravel as the Impala crawled forward down the curving path, sunlight shining through the criss-crossing tree branches above them and decorating the old road like so many splotches of paint. It had been almost half an hour since they'd even seen asphalt, and he could barely remember what it felt like to drive across a smooth surface at all.

His poor baby was going to have rocks stuck in her treads for weeks.

He rolled down his window, and the scent of grass and wood and fresh air wafted in, crisp and gentle, so different from the hot scent of highway and the bitter, re-circulated air that flowed through the A/C vents. He couldn't hear any other cars here – no sirens or horns or the whisper of tires on the road. It was just birdsongs and wind, and the crunch of the gravel below them.

"So that's it, huh?" he asked. Castiel didn't turn, just hummed his affirmation.

"You don't sound all that impressed," Cas told him after a pause, and now Dean laughed. No, he couldn't say that he was quite impressed, but he didn't think he was meant to be anyway. It was a little place, tucked back off the beaten trail, and it showed its age. But Dean liked it.

"Were you hoping I'd be?" He was smiling. "It's not supposed to be impressive, is it? It's supposed to be...I don't know, cozy." He pulled up near the steps, tugging the parking brake up with a forceful click and plucking the keys from the ignition. He started to move to get out of the car, but he paused instead, and just looked at the place.

It was old and worn, and looked like it had popped up in the middle of the trees and overgrown grass all on its own instead of being built there. It had a certain dignity to it, with its sloped slate roof and its dirty windows. It was welcoming in a way, like an old dog or a well-worn pair of jeans, not the kind of place that was made for making first impressions, but rather for making lasting ones.

The thought made Dean's stomach do an awkward little flip, and he tried to ignore it, because it felt almost nervous. And he refused to be nervous. He was not an awkward, fumbling, pimply freshman going for his first kiss. Nervous had been scratched out of his vocabulary years ago.

"Dean...are you alright?" Cas asked, and it took Dean a moment to even realize that he was even speaking to him. "You're being quiet. It's...strange for you." Now he was frowning, his brow creasing like he was turning things over and over in his mind. "Was it something I said?"

It was half a joke, and Dean forced himself to smile, then felt it come more naturally. "No. I'm just thinking."

Now Cas smiled back, and Dean's own got just that bit easier to slip into. "About what?" Cas asked.

Dean shook his head and got out of the car, standing and stretching his legs. "We should get our stuff out of the car. I'll get your bags if you get mine."

It was warm and humid out, and the air felt heavy with the promise of rain, but the clouds overhead had yet to let loose a single drop, and it made Dean feel like he was being smothered. He was sweating as he pulled the duffel bags out of the back seat and set them on the gravel by his sneakers, the slam of the Impala's car door rattling her frame as he did.

Castiel straightened his back and listened to the cicadas as Dean groaned. "It's fucking hot. This place doesn't have air conditioning, does it?"

"No."

Shit. "We packed fans, at least. Right?"

Castiel held up one of the desk fans they'd shoved in the back seat as an afterthought when the weather report had called for temperatures in the upper nineties for most of the week. "Three," he said. He swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. "There's a lake. We could swim."

"You say swim. I hear skinny dip." Dean smirked, and Castiel nudged him with his free elbow as he lifted his backpack onto his shoulders.

"Come on," Cas urged. "Help me get all this inside. Then we can talk about your fantasies." He shot him his own little smirk before carrying what he could up the steps of the porch and unlocking the front door. That tiny smile was a powerful little thing, and Dean's stomach did another damn flip. This time, it wasn't from nerves.

The strangest feeling rolled over him as he stepped inside, like this place was so old that it was somehow alive, or at the very least, somehow more than just some old cabin stuck in the middle of nowhere. It was almost creepy, but with the sunlight streaming through the windows and Cas leading him inside, what might have been eerie turned warm and welcoming instead.

The screen door slammed behind him, breaking him out of his train of thought, and he dumped his things on the couch in the living room. It was an old, scratchy thing with sagging springs and a color that blended with the aging wood around it. There was a fireplace at the far end of the room, surrounded by gray stone that looked worn and faded but sturdy; Dean ran a hand over it, finding it cold against his palm, and he lingered there to savor the feeling of it. He doubted they'd be getting much use out of it now. Sitting around a fire was the last thing he wanted to do in this heat.

"Where's the bathroom?" Dean asked, turning as Cas dropped his bags just inside the kitchen across from the living room. "I've had to take a piss since I-70."

"Just down the hall," Castiel said, going that way as he spoke. "Over here. I'll get the cooler out of the trunk while you're in there."

The bathroom was down the hallway from the kitchen, in the back corner of the cabin. Across from it was what Dean assumed was the bedroom, and Dean only got a glimpse of it before he grunted out a quick, "Sounds good," and slammed the door right in Castiel's face. Maybe it was rude, but he had to piss like a racehorse, and he could worry about his manners later.

"You're welcome," Castiel said through the door, and Dean could hear the smile behind the downright audible eye roll. At least Cas wasn't taking it personally.

When he was done and washed up – the water never got more than lukewarm, but he splashed some onto his sweaty face anyway – he side-stepped across the hall and peeked through the opposite door.

Cas hadn't given him the grand tour of his old family cabin yet, but Dean had figured this would be the bedroom, and he was right. It was dim now with the curtains blocking the sunlight from streaming in through the two large windows on the far wall, but when he moved them aside, the room was flooded with brightness. He cracked the window open to let in a breeze and sighed when the fresh air cooled the water beaded on his cheeks.

The bed was bare now, but it was more than comfortable when he sat down on the edge. When they got some sheets on it, it was sure to be inviting, maybe even cozy, and Dean was looking forward to spending his mornings sleeping in and eating breakfast propped against the headboard.

He ran a hand across the surface of the mattress, wondering what it would be like to have Castiel here with him. He'd find out soon enough, he supposed. After all, this was likely where it was going to happen.

Where they were going to...

He looked back at the carved headboard, the feathered wings extending from its center like they were reaching to embrace him. This was where he was going to offer up his...virginity?

The thought very nearly made him laugh.

The word sounded odd, almost ridiculous. He hadn't counted himself as a virgin since he was sixteen and his third date with Sarah Marowitz had ended with the two of them alone in her bedroom while her parents went to swing-dancing class, and that had been almost three years ago. But what else could he call it? It wasn't going to be his first time, exactly. It was far from even being his first time with Cas, if he counted everything else they'd ever done, but it was uncharted territory anyway, and for the first time in a very long time, he was the one without a road map.

It didn't scare him, really. It wasn't fear that he felt. Fear made him nauseous and antsy. It was the antithesis of desire. Some poet had probably said that at some point, somewhere in a dusty old book for Dean to read along the way and then file it far back in his mind. But whether it was a paraphrase from a high school English textbook or the result of his own brain deciding to wax poetic for one reason or another, it was still just as true.

If Dean were scared, he wouldn't want it. And he did want it. Badly.

Specifically, he wanted Cas.

So much so that he was willing to give him his – Dean refused to say the V-word again – give him something he'd never given to anyone else.

Was it possible to be scared of something and still want it, Dean wondered, or was he just being indecisive?

"You're doing it again." Cas was leaning on the door frame, his hands in his jeans pockets, eyebrow arched and a sheen of sweat gleaming on his brow. Dean licked his lips.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking. You've been doing that a lot lately."

Dean shrugged. "It's just hot. Thinking doesn't make my temperature spike." He took a look around the room, eyes pausing on the ceiling fan above their heads. That would come in handy later. When he looked back down, Cas was stepping toward him.

"It's strange, being back here. It seems...smaller than I remember." He sat on the edge of the mattress, beside him, their thighs brushing. "And quiet. Very quiet."

"Quiet is fine. Hell, quiet is fuckin' nice." He took a breath, inhaling the dust and the scent of the woods drifting in through the open window. "I could use some quiet."

"Then I'm glad we're here." Cas was smiling at him, and it made Dean's stomach do that weird flipping thing again.

Dean nudged him. "You're gonna get sick of me," he said. "Just the two of us, all alone, far from civilization for five whole days..." His voice trailed off, and Cas raised an eyebrow at him. Dean could have sworn the guy was  _insinuating_ something, especially given that damn smirk of his. "Pervert."

"You said it, not me."

He leaned close, because it felt like the right thing to do at the moment, and because he wanted to wipe that little smile away. Cas made a little noise – maybe it was from surprise, or maybe it was just a happy little hum – and moved to accommodate him, lips pliable and soft, head tilted just right so that his nose was out of the way. His jaw was peppered with a few days' worth of stubble, and it scratched at Dean's skin, but he'd gotten used to that by now. Hell, he'd gotten to like it a long time ago.

They parted, and Dean's tongue darted out to lick the taste of him off his lips, almost without him realizing. "You're being awfully affectionate," Cas said, and Dean laughed. Maybe the endorphin rush from the kiss was making him a little giddy.

"I'm always affectionate," he said. "Maybe this place is just getting to me. In a good way, I mean." He took another glance around the room. The walls were wood, bare and rough, but paintings of birds and other animals hung on them, all around. "It's a nice place."

"It's always been," Cas agreed with a nod. "I haven't been here in a long time."

Dean stood, going over to one of the paintings and looking it over. It was oil, and he could make out the brushstrokes as he looked closer. The subject was an owl of some kind, with pristine white and gray feathers and an elegant, rounded head. "It's a snowy owl," Cas piped up behind him, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "My sister did it."

Dean hadn't pegged Anna for the artistic type, but he "hmm'ed" softly and dropped the comment before he made it. "Guess your parents knew a good decorating opportunity when they saw it."

"Dean." Cas' tone has gone from casual to firm out of nowhere, and Dean couldn't help but whirl around to see what the hell's the cause. Cas was still sitting on the bed, but his posture was practically military-grade straight now, and his brow pinched as he frowned. "What are you thinking about?"

"What are  _you_ thinking about?" Dean asked with a nervous little laugh. "Dude, you look like you're constipated."

"Something's weighing on you," Cas said, and he finally stood. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter. Nothing's wrong, Cas. It's just hot as balls, alright? I don't do well with heat. And it was a long drive. I'm all stiff..." He rubbed his neck, to prove his point. Cas knew damn well that he could handle a long drive without blinking an eye. He'd driven over two state lines the day he'd gotten his drivers' license for crying out loud.

It was hot, though. Dean hadn't been lying about that. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and slipped past the collar of his T-shirt, making him squirm.

Cas was still looking at him with that damn piercing gaze, like he was trying to see through him. Finally though, he sighed, his shoulders rolling forward. "It is hot," he agreed, and Dean felt something clench in his gut as Cas ducked his head, staring at the floor. But he was looking up not a moment later, and now he was smiling that little familiar barely-there smile of his. "The sooner we get those fans set up, the sooner you can cool off."

He was halfway out the door before Dean called, "I still say skinny dipping would be better," and he couldn't deny that he swelled with pride when Cas laughed from around the corner.

* * *

It was fucking  _hot._

Dean was sweating so bad by the time they got the last of their stuff into the cabin that his shirt was sticking to him in all the worst places, and he was starting to chafe something awful. "How the fuck do you stand this heat?" he groaned as he flopped down on the couch, plugging in the desk fan he'd grabbed into the nearest socket and putting it on the highest setting.

He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the cool breezy bliss until Cas plopped down on the cushion beside him, smelling fresh as a damn flower. "It's supposed to be this hot all week, I think," he said.

"How are you not sweltering, man?" Dean asked him, opening his eye a crack to peek. Cas shrugged.

"I am hot. But I guess I don't mind it so much." He reached up to wipe sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, and Dean had to smirk as he did. Cas' T-shirt was cut lower than his own, and sweat had gathered in the hallow of his neck just under his collar. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean said, still smirking as he moved closer. He got a good whiff of sweat and musk mixed with the dusty smell of the cabin and the scent of grass from outside, and he was kissing along the side of Castiel's neck before he even knew what he was doing with himself.

"Dean..."

"M'what?"

"We still have to...have to move the food from the...cooler..." His voice was strained already. A few passes of his mouth over Cas' neck always did the trick.

"Already moved everything out of the car." They dipped back onto the couch, settling horizontal against the scratchy cushions. "We deserve a break."

"I doubt this will do anything to help you cool off..."

Dean sat up, reached over for the fan on the coffee table and moved it closer to them until he could feel the breeze again. "Nah...but you said yourself you don't mind the heat so much. I can adapt. 'Sides..." He smirked down at Cas, unable to keep from smiling at that rebellious hair of his that was already sticking up every which way against the pillow. "This is a hell of an opportunity, isn't it? Just the two of us...all alone...no brothers or sisters or parents..." He leaned down to nip at Cas' jaw, drinking in his little moan. "We could be as loud as we want...I doubt the cicadas would mind."

Cas just hummed, and Dean took it as a yes because his legs parted to let him settle further against his hips, arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him in close. Castiel's fingers tangled in his short hair, his tongue darting out against his lips, and sure, Dean was gross and sweaty and he sure didn't smell like roses, but Cas didn't seem to care. He closed his eyes and ignored the shirt sticking to his back, just lost himself in the slide of his body against Castiel's.

There was no anxiety here. He felt like an idiot for ever letting it get to him in the first place. There was something about kissing Cas that always made him feel like there were years tension built up behind a dam, despite the fact that they'd been together for months now. He never felt like he'd had enough of him.

He could stay here forever, just like this.

It wasn't until he felt something tickle the knuckle of his right hand that he started to come back to the world around him. His palm was pressed against the arm of the couch, his other hand pinned under Cas' shoulder, but there was definitely something, a tiny prickling sensation against the back of his fingers. Like something was...crawling on his skin...

He looked up, just for a moment, and it took him all of half a second to process BUGFUCKINGBUGGODDAMNCREEPYCRAWLYBUG before he was hurling himself backwards, up and off of Cas, arm flailing out to the side as he let out what had to be the most undignified cry of his life. It took the vague shape of something along the lines of, " _What the ever loving shit is that?_ " but he couldn't be entirely sure.

He pulled his hand close to his chest – the fucking thing gone now – and tried to pretend he hadn't just been reduced to a stereotypical fifties housewife who'd just found a mouse in her pristine Pleasantville kitchen. "What the hell was that about?" Cas asked him, and all he could do was try and catch his breath and force out, "I thought...bug...on my...my hand..."

But Cas wasn't looking at him anymore; he was staring down at the floor, and then he was leaning down and reaching for something and-

"Christ, get that fucking thing away from me!"

"It's not going to hurt you, Dean," Cas said. "It's just a little millipede." It was crawling over Cas' fingers, much the same way it had been taking a stroll across Dean's before he'd flung it unceremoniously across the room. It looked a lot smaller now that he got a good long look at it.

Cas smiled at him – the bastard looked like he was trying very hard not to let it show – brow furrowing. "I didn't think you were scared of bugs."

"I'm not scared of bugs!" Dean spat. "I just want some warning before they're  _on_ me." He sighed, wiping sweat off his brow and staring at the ugly sofa cushion. "Can you just get rid of it?"

"Alright, alright," Cas said as he stood. "You'll have to get used to them though. They're everywhere around here."

"I know," Dean said, not caring that Cas couldn't hear him as he took the damn thing out to the door and put it down in the grass by the porch. He was not pouting. He was not. Dean Winchester did not pout, and he certainly wasn't afraid of bugs. Who wanted a damn creepy-crawler thinking that it could walk all over their skin with its hundreds of tiny little legs?

"Shut up," he said when Cas sat down again.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. I could  _hear_  you. You're a damn loud thinker."

Cas leaned over and kissed him on the nose. Dean refused to let him break his resolve, and he frowned even harder. "I thought you said I could be as loud as I wanted out here," Cas said.

Dean nodded his head to one side, lazily. Cas did have a point. And he was definitely not about to start complaining about that.

The mood was gone though, at least for now. And first thing was first; they had to finish unpacking. And hopefully put some sheets on that bed.

* * *

Cas took the coolers and the food while Dean tasked himself with making the bed and getting all the toiletries into the bathroom. He started with the latter, leaving their toothbrushes side by side in a little cup on the lip of the sink, stacking all their soap and the like neatly by the shower, and making sure they had toilet paper at the ready.

He'd forgotten his own shampoo, and resigned himself to using Castiel's and smelling like cucumber and melon for the week. It wasn't so bad; he happened to like the scent, but it was likely only because he usually got a good whiff of it whenever they were making out or snuggled up close in bed or on the couch. He had a matching conditioner too, which Dean usually didn't bother with, but he just might for this week. There was no point in messing up the shampoo to conditioner ratio of Cas' bottles, after all.

He didn't spare a second glance at their toothbrushes sitting nestled up against one another until he was on his way to get started with the bedroom. It should have held some sort of meaning, prompted thoughts of domesticity, meals cooked together in a tiny kitchen, and a shared mortgage, or something along those lines anyway. But Dean didn't like to over-analyze. It did make him smile, though.

He also noticed before he left that Cas had forgotten his toothpaste. It made him feel better about the shampoo at least. They could share for the week. He just hoped Cas liked cinnamon flavored Crest.

Cas had borrowed sheets and a comforter from his brother, since he didn't have any queen-sized bedclothes of his own and using his parents' just seemed wrong somehow, if this week had as much in store as Dean had in mind for it. The sheets were mint green and the comforter a deep midnight blue, and by the time Dean had wrestled the fitted bottom sheet into submission and tucked the top one under the foot of the mattress, he was so close to boiling that he couldn't resist the urge to splay out on top of them and revel in the crispness of the generous thread count.

"Are you having trouble?" Cas asked, and Dean could tell that he was smiling even without looking. He had to look ridiculous, on his stomach on a half-made bed with his nose pressed against the mattress.

"No," he said, his words muffled beyond recognition. When he finally did summon up the energy to turn his head, he left a spot of sweat on the sheets where he'd pressed his forehead before. "Ew."

Cas had a fan in one hand, and he propped it up on the old chest at the foot of the bed and plugged it in. The moment the sweet cool breeze washed over him, he let out a damn near pornographic moan. "You're welcome," Cas said.

"Is it seriously supposed to be this hot all damn week?" Dean asked, and Cas shrugged.

"It's almost August. What do you expect?" He pressed a gentle hand to Dean's shoulder, rubbing up and down along the curve of his neck. "The freezer might be old, but it works just as well as the day my parents bought it. I packed plenty of popsicles and one of those Margarita buckets too."

"Margarita  _bucket?_ " Dean asked. It had to be the trashiest thing he'd ever heard of, and he was intrigued.

"You add tequila and put it in the freezer. And voila, margaritas."

"From a bucket."

"Yes."

"And did you bring tequila?"

"Of course I brought tequila."

Dean somehow found the energy to laugh, and even had some left over to haul himself up onto his elbows. "You're such a bad influence."

"Thank Gabriel. He bought it for me. That and a box of cherry flavored condoms."

"Cherry?" Dean snorted.

"It's ridiculous, I know," Cas said. "He knows I prefer blueberry."

"Well  _I_  happen to like cherry." Dean slithered closer, draping himself lazily over Castiel's thighs and kissing along his chest. Cas didn't make any move to stop him, and let out a happy little hum as his hand meandered up Dean's back.

"The food's in the fridge," he said, his voice as steady as if Dean was just sat next to him reading the newspaper. "The freezer will take a little longer to cool down, so we'll have to move the last of the stuff later."

"Mmhm," Dean hummed, one hand wandering down to the hem of Castiel's cargo shorts as his other one pushed him down onto the bed. He finally reached Cas' neck, and – surprise, surprise – Cas' breath finally hitched. "You're a sucker for neck kisses."

"You started it," Cas chided him, holding him close. "Don't stop."

This, Dean could never have any qualms with. It had taken him a damn long time to feel okay with the idea of sucking dick, but now, with Cas, he'd started to wonder why he hadn't tried it sooner. He'd always thought it would feel dirty or degrading or just plain weird, but when he wrapped his lips around Cas' cock and drew that first little broken moan out of his throat...God, there was nothing better. Not even pecan pie.

Cas' shirt had ridden up, and Dean peppered his belly with kisses, the thin trail of hair that disappeared under the hem of his pants tickling his lips as he went. He wasn't quite hard yet, but he was getting there, and Dean reached between his legs and cupped him to help him along, gently massaging his balls through his shorts.

"This is the second time we've gotten distracted," Cas told him, breathless and flushed.

"Distracted from what? Our vacation? Isn't that the point?" He ducked lower, mouthing at Castiel's growing erection until Cas reached down and unbuttoned his pants with a little impatient groan.

He sat up, tugging Cas toward the edge of the bed and letting him plant his feet on the hard wood floor before he shucked off his own shirt and pulled Cas' shorts and underwear down to let them pool around his ankles. "Where are those cherry condoms?" he asked. "Don't wanna make a mess when I just made the bed."

Cas rolled his eyes, and that had to be a playful little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "You have something against swallowing?" he asked.

Dean answered by wrapping his fingers around Castiel's cock and stroking it to coax it along toward full hardness. "C'mon, buddy. Humor me."

"They're in...oh...they're in my backpack...front...front pocket..." He loved hearing that little wobble in Cas' voice when he was all worked up like this, like he was desperately trying to keep his cool when he was being driven further and further up a damn wall. Dean swiped the pad of his thumb across the head of Cas' penis, leaning down to give it a gentle "I'll be back" kiss before getting up off the floor and going to Cas' backpack.

He found the box of condoms pretty easily, nestled next to Castiel's iPod and his phone charger. It featured a ridiculous picture of a woman's full, ruby-stained lips positively molesting a red lollipop on the front, and he had to laugh a little because whoever designed that marketing campaign probably didn't picture two dudes going at it when they slapped it on the cover.

The package was pink and stamped with the brand name in dark purple, and he ripped it open as he tossed the open box back into Cas' backpack and headed back over to the bed. He dropped to his knees again, patting Cas on the knee and grinning up at him as he stuck his tongue out and licked the condom. "Huh...not bad. Kinda cherry, I guess. Sorta like...a cherry afterthought to latex." He damn near giggled as he rolled it on. "Your junk is gonna smell like pie."

"Are you ever  _not_  thinking about pie?" Cas asked him.

"Yeah, when I'm thinking about burgers. Or thinking about blowing you. But now I can think about that last one and pie at the same time, so it's a win-win." He dragged his tongue up the underside of Cas' cock, wrapping his lips around the tip with a satisfied hum. The flavor reminded him of the cheap candy that was made more to sell the gimmicky, light-up packaging than anything edible – not nearly as good as cherry pie – but it wasn't bad. And the noise Cas made when he swallowed him down made it taste twice as sweet.

He released Cas with a wet little pop and wiped sweat off his brow with one hand. "You mind tilting that fan down? I'd rather not boil down here while I'm getting you off." Cas nodded, reaching for the fan and wrestling with it a bit before he managed to point it down toward him. The breeze was cool and sweet. "Ah...thanks, Cas."

It had to be weird for Cas, getting head in what had once been his parent's bedroom in their vacation home, but he didn't seem to mind. He was a little distracted, after all. At least there weren't any family pictures hanging on the walls, so Dean was spared the boner-killing moment of accidentally making eye contact with his boyfriend's grandmother when he had a dick halfway down his throat. But the snowy owl on the far wall was staring at him with its head half-cocked to one side, like it was judging him.

"Fuck you, snowy owl," Dean thought, and he swallowed Cas down as far as he could.

Cas wasn't quiet. He never had been; the fact that they were alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and far away from anyone who might hear them didn't change that. He'd never admit it, but he was always the one that needed a hand planted over his mouth when they were trying to have a sneaky quickie with someone's brother or parents right down the hall. But Dean loved hearing him, and he would have smiled at the sounds Cas was making now if his mouth wasn't already busy.

Cas' fingernails scraped against his scalp as he ran his fingers through his hair and down to the nape of his neck, grasping firmly one second and gently cradling his head the next. Dean glanced up, finding Cas' eyes closed and his mouth open, his chest heaving out ragged breaths around his moans. Every now and again, when Dean hit a sweet spot or took him in especially deep, his eyes would squeeze shut tighter, almost like it hurt him.

He pulled away for a moment as Cas spread his legs wider, and he wrapped an arm around the back of Cas' knee. "Put your leg up," he muttered, words slurring a bit from his jaw being as tired as it was. He would have thought he'd have built up some sort of stamina in his jaw muscles by now, but no such luck.

Cas hooked his leg over Dean's shoulder as Dean dipped down again, licking his lips and tasting the tart cherry flavor that had built up on them before taking Cas back into his mouth. He smelled like sweat and artificial fruit and cucumber shampoo – did he shampoo his pubes, Dean wondered? – and he groaned as both hands flew to Dean's hair again.

He had a good rhythm going, bobbing up and down to the beat of  _Master of Puppets_  as it played in the back of his head, at least until Cas let out a shaky little breath and whined, "Faster..." Then he switched to  _Enter Sandman._  And before long, Cas' thighs tensed, his calf pressing against Dean's back to urge him closer, and Dean drew back, sucking on the head like it was a latex-tinged cherry lollipop and stroking him eagerly with one hand.

Cas yelled, and curled his torso over Dean's head, hugging him close and keeping him firmly between his legs as he came. Dean pulled his mouth off with a soft little pop, stroking him through it and admiring his handiwork with a little grin. It wasn't until Cas was done and had flopped back onto the bed to catch his breath that Dean reached up to massage his jaw.

"That cherry ain't half bad," he said as he gently took the condom off and tossed it into the trashcan.

"Mmm," Cas said.

"Aftertaste kinda sucks though."

"Mmm."

Dean crawled onto the bed and lay down next to him. There was a certain feeling of pride that came with seeing someone so blissed out after an orgasm that was all thanks to him. "You gonna say anything?"

Cas opened his eyes, just a little. "Mmm," he said, before closing them again.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me, buster," Dean said, giving Cas' shoulder a little shake. "I still have to keep making the bed."

"Later," Cas mumbled, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said, "Lazy bastard." Even as he spoke, Cas' hands were wandering down over his chest and stomach, and his fingers were skimming across the bulge in his pants. "Cas..."

His eyes were sharper now, the haze of his orgasm and afterglow receding, and he deftly undid the zipper and reached inside, never taking his eyes off of Dean's face. "Cas...M'gonna make a mess...just put these sheets on..."

"I've got your dick in my hand, and you're worried about the sheets," Cas chided.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a fitted sheet on in ninety-degree heat?"

"Do you want me to jack you off or not, Dean?" He gave Dean a little squeeze as he asked. What was he supposed to say to that except, "Yes please?"

"Yes please," he muttered.

He did wind up making a mess on the sheets, but Cas wiped it up with a tissue without a single peep of complaint, and Dean was too busy enjoying his afterglow to care much. The fan helped keep them both from cooking right there on the box spring, but cuddling proved to do too much to increase their risk of heat stroke to be all that pleasant, so they lay side by side on the sheets, naked and staring up at the ceiling.

"You think your parents know we're gonna spend this whole week fucking?" Dean asked.

He was pretty much convinced that anyone other than Cas would have laughed, or asked him why the hell he was even wondering about that, but Cas just shrugged. "Probably."

Dean glanced over at him. "Really?"

"They do know we have sex, Dean."

"Well I mean...we haven't. I mean I haven't. Not technically..."

"We've been giving each other orgasms for months. What would you call what we just did?"

"Sex," he said. "I mean, kinda...but  _technically_ -"

"You mean penetration," Cas finished, and Dean grimaced.

"Do you really have to use the word  _penetration?_ "

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's just a...gross word, okay? Like  _intercourse_  or  _moist._ "

"But that is what you meant, right?"

Cas stared at him so long that he had to resist the urge to squirm. He was damn good at putting on that intense face when he needed to, but it was bumming his afterglow. "Yeah, I guess," he admitted, and Cas sighed as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"How many times do I have to remind you that-"

"It's not any more legitimate sex than anything else, yadda yadda," Dean finished. "I know, I know. You don't have to go all high school guidance counselor on me, Cas." It came out a little more bitter than he'd meant it to, so he smiled and gently pulled Cas down until he was lying beside him again. "You'd make a good one, you know that? A guidance counselor, I mean."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not! I'm just saying." He settled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling and resuming his count of how many spots he could find on the wood. "I get it, okay? I'm not trying to say all the stuff we've done doesn't count or something. God knows I haven't been a virgin in a long damn time." He huffed out a clipped out little laugh. "But I do...I do want to, you know...I wanna do that..."

"Well we  _have_. But I'm assuming you mean you want to be the one being pe-" He sighed. "Bottoming?"

"Well yeah. While we're here, if we could..." He fought the urge to twiddle his thumbs.

"Dean..." Cas rolled over onto his side, resting his cheek on one open palm. "I told you the last time you brought this up, when you're ready for that, all you need to do is say the word."

Dean looked over and smiled right back at him, telling his heart to stop pounding and his cheeks to stop flushing red for crying out loud, because blushing like a flustered little boy on his first date just wasn't his style. And the extended eye contact was starting to make him feel pretty damn exposed – despite the fact that he was already naked – so he reached out to pull Cas in for a kiss.

"You're so damn sweet I think I'm gonna get a cavity," he said as he pulled away, and he rolled over to pin Cas down onto the bed. Cas didn't seem to want to give him that much power, though, and he fought back against him, pushing him back over, and so it went back and forth until they were tangled together in the middle of the bed, grasping and pushing at each other. It went on until Cas managed somehow to get him into a damn tight headlock, and Dean had to call uncle.

They fell back on the sheets, breathless again and sweatier than ever, grinning stupidly at the damn ceiling.

Cas fell asleep at some point after that. Dean wasn't sure how long it took. He might have dozed himself. There was something about this heat that made him groggy, and it was hard to stay awake when he was relaxed from his orgasm and worn out from a long drive anyway. He traced the feathers tattooed on Cas' shoulder until his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since they'd stopped at McDonald's for breakfast that morning on the way out of town, and he hauled himself up.

He almost tugged on some boxers before he realized that the point was moot anyway, because Cas had seen him naked more times than he could count – the most recent of which being less than an hour ago – and nobody else who would care was round for miles. It wasn't like the birds or squirrels were going to judge him, and as long as he didn't spend too long outside, he didn't have to worry about sunburn. So he walked naked down the hall to the kitchen and grabbed a box of poptarts off the counter, helping himself to a couple of the pastries and wandering around the cabin.

The kitchen was open to the spacious living room, the only thing that divided them being the line where linoleum met hard wood. It looked like there had been a wall separating them once, but the Novaks, Dean had learned, were a family that liked to have plenty of open space to grow. It made a lot of sense that they'd like a place like this, a home away from home with nothing around it but wide open spaces and trees for miles. He could breathe here, and as used to cramped quarters and city noise as he was, he felt like he could adjust to this with no problem at all.

Even the bugs, he thought with a little shudder. Or at the very least, he wasn't going to let them ruin it.

He leaned against the counter, staring out the old window that looked out over the porch. His car was parked on the gravel, and it already had a spot or two of bird poop on the hood. He frowned. He'd take care of it when they got home – after all she was already covered in pollen and dust from the drive up, and if he gave her a bath now, she'd only get dirty again before the day was out.

The floorboards creaked behind him, and Cas yawned as he shuffled down the hallway, rubbing his eyes. His hair was all tousled and sticking to his forehead with sweat, and he stopped to let the fan in the living room blow a refreshing breeze over his skin. "Good nap, sleeping beauty?" Dean asked.

"I never saw that movie," Cas said. "But yes."

"What kind of childhood did you have that you didn't even see  _Sleeping Beauty?_ "

"A rather uninteresting one." He was also naked. Dean supposed great minds thought alike. He really couldn't complain about the view. "The freezer should be ready by now. Help me get the last of the stuff in?"

They dragged their cooler over to the large chest freezers in the back corner of the kitchen. They hadn't brought anything perishable, but the idea of going a week in the heat without any popsicles or ice cream had been too much to bear. They'd brought neopolitan for Dean and pistachio for Cas (who liked it for some weird reason), and a huge box of those plastic-wrapped push-up pops that reminded Dean of frozen Go-gurt.

The margarita bucket was sitting on the counter, and Cas opened it up as Dean was moving the last of the frozen treats into the freezer. "Hand me the tequila?" It was sitting on the corner of the counter by the freezer, so Dean grabbed it and handed it to him so that he could pour the sucker in.

"Wow, Cas. You want some margarita with your Jose Cuervo?"

"I'm not pouring in the whole thing." He set the bottle back on the table and carried the bucket to the freezer. "I want it to be strong, but I don't want it to be too watery."

"You brought salt, right?" Cas paused. "Aw, Cas! We can't drink margaritas without salt!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's just the way the world works, Cas. How could you forget the salt?"

"I think you'll live," Cas said.

Dean dropped the argument, if only because watching Cas bend over to close the freezer distracted him.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a little while for it to sink in that they really were all alone in this cabin, far from anyone else who would care if they walked around naked or drank cheap margaritas out of solo cups on the front porch. They'd both relented and pulled on some pants before heading outside, because even if they'd practically drowned themselves in OFF, neither of them were willing to risk mosquito bites on their junk.

Cas sat on the top step with Dean settled on the one below that and leaning back against him while he used Cas' knees as armrests. They had ramen for dinner and sat outside with their drinks as they watched the sun set over the trees and listened to the cicadas.

"Can't remember the last time I spent a night somewhere I couldn't hear cars going by," Dean said, reaching up to catch a firefly as it passed. He watched it climb to the tip of his finger, spread its wings and take off again, blinking as it went.

Cas hummed in agreement. "That was my favorite part growing up," he said. "Though it was never this quiet with all of us here. It was crowded."

"Your parents never looked for a bigger cabin or anything?"

"There was never a need, really. There were only a few years that we all came together." There was a slight tinge of sadness in his voice, but it was gone with his next breath. "Anyway, the sentimental value was the biggest part of it. There's no air conditioning or wi-fi and half the windows are cracked."

"It's rustic," Dean offered.

"It's a roof over our heads. Coming out here, we never expected to spend much time indoors anyway."

"At least the bed is comfortable."

"Yes." Dean could hear his smile. "It is that."

They slipped into silence again, but it never felt uncomfortable. They listened to the cicadas and watched the fireflies and enjoyed every rare breeze that came their way. They weren't baking in the sun anymore, but the temperature hadn't gone down all that much, and the humidity was still unforgiving. But Dean didn't let it get to him, just leaned back against Cas' stomach and closed his eyes, humming whenever Cas' fingers carded through his hair.

"How far is the lake?" he asked after a few minutes of quiet.

Cas pointed south. "Half a mile or so down that way. There's a path, but you can't see it from here." He rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean ran his fingers along his skin. "We can head down there tomorrow if you want, or even tonight."

"There's no rush," Dean assured him. "We got time, Cas."

"We do," Cas agreed. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Sure."

The sun had dipped under the tree line, and the stars were starting to come out above the cabin, even though the western sky was still dyed with pinks and oranges. Dean watched the day fading away and wondered if tonight would be the night.

He doubted it. It didn't  _feel_  right, and he knew that Cas was waiting for him to give the word before they tried. Part of him wanted to do it as soon as possible, get it over with, but he tamped that voice down the moment it came up because the second he started thinking like that was the second he doomed himself to a horrible first time.

They'd had sex plenty. Once Dean had taken that plunge several months ago, it had opened a floodgate that he hadn't seemed to be able to close. Years in the closet had left him with so much pent-up sexual desire for his own gender that for a while, it was like he was horny all the damn time. It didn't help that Cas was unbelievably sexy doing even the most mundane things, but when he'd spent a good portion of his life trying to convince himself - and everyone else - that he didn't want to see other guys naked even a  _little bit_ , it couldn't be helped that he had lost time to make up for.

It had been different from sex with women in a lot of ways, but not that different at the very same time. Cas was rougher, harder around the edges (and in other places too), and Dean didn't feel like he had to be gentle. He wasn't  _rough,_  really – though the occasional impromptu naked wrestling match wasn't beyond the norm – but he never felt like he had to hold anything back. He could let go, give in, move Cas where he needed him and let Cas move him where he wanted too. There was something almost primal about it, and it was addictive.

But there had always been one thing that had held him back, one thing that they hadn't tried. It wasn't that Dean was scared, really, just that it was uncharted territory. He had other experiences to fall back on, things to compare stuff to before. But the idea of Cas being  _inside_  him was something completely different than anything he'd ever done. He'd tried fingers before, sure, and Cas had done it to him loads of times – after all, prostate stimulation was the fucking  _bomb_  – but he still had no idea how it would feel when they finally got around the big event.

He had no benchmark for what bottoming was supposed to be like.

Cas had done it a handful of times. More often than not they traded handjobs or blowjobs, or ground up against each other until they both came. But Dean had topped more than once and Cas had sung his praises to high fucking heaven, so it had to be damn good, right?

"Dean." Cas had taken to weaving their fingers together, studying Dean's hand by touch.

"Mm?"

"I'm glad we're here."

"I'm glad you brought bug spray," Dean countered, and Cas squeezed his hand.

"I mean it."

"Me too."

Cas huffed, and as much as Dean disliked having  _moments,_ they had their place, and he sat up and turned around, putting down his cheap imitation margarita and rubbing his freed hand up and down Cas' arm. "Hey," he said, softly, hoping that it would get the point across as he repeated, "Me too."

That little smile told him everything he needed to know. This was definitely a chick-flick moment now, if it hadn't already been one before. But even if it felt like something out of a damn Nicholas Sparks novel, he had to admit that the feeling of having Cas' fingers laced with his was pretty damn good. It even chased away the anxiety for a little bit. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe it meant that when he finally did take the plunge, Cas would make it all okay.

Not tonight, though. As sweet and romantic and all that shit as it was, Dean was still sweaty and he smelled like bug repellent chemicals from his head to toe, and despite all of the stuff that he'd sprayed over his skin, one of the little suckers had managed to get at his ankle.

"Do you need more?" Cas asked him.

"What?"

"The bug spray. Did one get you?" He gestured down at Dean's foot, where he'd noticed him scratching.

"Yeah, I guess. And could you grab me a refill?" He handed Cas his cup, and Cas took it, smiling down at him as he stood.

"Pace yourself, Winchester," he said. "I don't want to nurse any hangovers."

"Oh c'mon, Cas. Those things are strong, but they're not  _that_  strong. I can hold my cocktails alright, don't you worry."

* * *

Cas had wanted to lie out under the stars when the sun went down, and Dean had been looking forward to it too, but he'd showered and changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants, and he'd lay down on the bed just for a second or two, and it had just been too damn comfortable. The fan had been providing the perfect breeze and the sheets had been crisp and the comforter soft, and the heat had been making him so groggy...

Next thing he knew he was waking up and it was morning again, and he looked at his watch and realized he'd slept for almost eleven hours. He hadn't even felt that tired at all, but thinking about it now, he hadn't slept much in the days leading up to their trip; he'd been packing and thinking way too much about things that seemed so damn ridiculous looking back on them now.

But he felt well-rested, and some of the heat had faded overnight. It would inevitably get hot again by high noon, but for now at least, he didn't feel like he was boiling.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he'd kicked the comforter off in his sleep, and it was down by his ankles now. His pants had ridden down low on his hips, and he squirmed a bit as he pulled them back up.

Cas was asleep next to him, still dead to the world. He was sleeping naked, as he liked to do, and the sheets were just barely protecting his modesty. Well, his morning wood wasn't all that modest, Dean thought with a smirk, and he scooted up closer and rested his head on the heel of his hand, elbow propped up against the mattress.

Slowly, Cas' eyes slid open, and his gaze made its way up Dean's chest to his face. "Were you watching me sleep?" he asked, his voice even rougher than usual with sleep.

"It's creepy, isn't it?" Dean said with a little smile. "Now you know how I feel."

"I don't watch you sleep." Cas pushed himself up on his elbows, yawning magnificently. "I like to watch you wake up."

"Still creepy."

Cas stretched, back arching up off the bed and the sheet slipping down his thighs. He didn't even seem to notice, let alone mind it. Dean sure didn't. "What time is it?"

"'Bout eight," Dean said. "Sorry I fell asleep on you. I didn't mean to-"

"You needed the sleep," Cas interrupted, folding his arms behind his head and resting it atop them. "I wasn't far behind. Stayed up and listened to the crickets for a little while." Dean pictured Cas sitting on the porch, out in the late-night humidity, eyes closed and head leaning back against the wall as he listened to the veritable army of crickets that seemed to live in the area. Dean had fallen asleep to them chirping the night before. He hadn't known they could get so damn loud.

"Besides," Cas said, patting Dean's leg, "We have all day to ourselves. The first day of many. What do you want to do?"

That  _was_  the question, wasn't it? Dean glanced downward; Cas' morning wood was waning a bit, but he could fix that with no trouble at all. When he looked back up, raising one eyebrow, Cas was staring at him like he had no idea what he was thinking, but he knew damn well what he had in mind. "I got a few ideas," Dean said.

They didn't leave the bedroom until their stomachs were growling too loudly to ignore, but they still had nothing on Cas. That guy had some damn strong lungs. Neither of them bothered with shirts – if it stayed this hot, Dean doubted they would at all while they were here – and he was hyper-aware of the hickies on his skin as he made his way to the kitchen. Cas had marked a pink trail all the way down from his neck to his sternum, and Dean wore them like blue ribbons. Who was going to judge him? The birds that kept shitting on his car or the snowy owl in the painting on the bedroom wall?

Dean made eggs on the old gas range and served them up with dark toast slathered with peanut better. He'd thought he'd been hungry, but Cas devoured his food in half the time it took Dean to tuck into his. "Jesus, slow down, buddy," he said with a little chuckle.

"Can I help it if I worked up an appetite?" Cas asked, pointedly eying the marks on Dean's skin.

He pretended the flush in his cheeks was from the heat. "Guess not."

When Cas had made himself another helping of toast and put it away in just four bites, he wiped the crumbs from his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "We should go to the lake today," he said. "We could take a picnic."

"Can't remember the last time I had a picnic," Dean muttered around his last bite of eggs.

"All the more reason why we should go. That and the promise of skinny dipping."

"I was kidding about that, you know."

"No, you weren't."

Cas knew him too well. "Yeah, okay, I wasn't."

"We could go hiking too," Cas continued, as if the prospect of swimming naked together was just another activity like canoeing or crafting. "We'd have to get up early. But the woods are gorgeous early in the morning, right as the sun comes up."

Dean didn't exactly jump at that. He'd planned on sleeping in on his vacation, and hopefully on waking up to sleepy morning sex, like today. But he smiled anyway, because the dreamy look Cas got on his face as he described the early-morning woods was just too adorable. "It's almost like summer camp," he said. "Hiking, swimming...though I never went skinny dipping at summer camp. Well, once, but I'm hoping this time around nobody steals my clothes..."

Cas shrugged. "I never went to summer camp."

"Seriously? God, you never saw  _Sleeping Beauty_ , and you never went to summer camp? What kind of kid has never been on a snipe hunt?"

Cas squinted at him. "What's a snipe?"

"It's a kind of bird." Dean choked down his own laugh.

"I've never heard of it."

"Oh, so you're an ornithologist now? It's a rare bird...only lives in the forest and only comes out at night. Come to think of it, places like this are just the kind of places it likes to roost..."

"I've been coming here since I was barely old enough to remember, Dean. And I've never seen a snipe."

"How would you know if you had? You hadn't even heard of them until I told you!" He grinned as he leaned across the table, putting on his most determined face. "Mark my words, Cas. Before we head home, we're gonna catch you a snipe."

* * *

Just as Dean had known it would, the heat returned with a vengeance by the afternoon, and the half-mile hike to the lake was a bear. The path was narrow and wound serpentine through the trees, littered with low-hanging branches and stubborn roots. It was paved with flat stones the entire way, but most of them were covered with leaves or cracked from age. Cas seemed to know exactly where to go, though, path or no path, like he had a compass in his head that pointed him in the right direction.

"You're not gonna get us lost, right?" Dean asked as he wondered if the three water bottles he'd packed would be enough to make up for how much he was sweating. His shirt was so soaked he was pretty sure he could give Sam a run for his money in the pit stains department, and his brother could sweat like a whore in church while standing still in an air-conditioned room.

Cas didn't look back, just kept pressing on, pushing a stray branch away from his face. "I spent most of my time here as a kid whenever we came," he said. "I know these woods, Dean."

"M'not doubting you, man. It's just that all these trees look the same to me."

"Should I be worried if you can't tell an oak from a pine?"

"You know what I meant."

Cas just hummed, and they made their way down a gentle hill before coming through the treeline and finding themselves standing on the shore of the lake. It was like something off the back of a postcard. The ground under their feet sloped down into the water, a gradual shift from grass to fine pebbles. He could hear frogs and cicadas and birds louder than ever here, and as he watched, a breeze shifted the trees in the distance, pushing tiny ripples through the water toward them as it cooled the sweat on his brow. "Holy shit," he breathed.

Above the treeline on the far shore – which wasn't all that far, not even a hard swim away – the sky was a perfect blue, lined with fluffy clouds. It was like he'd stepped into a Bob Ross painting.

He glanced over at Cas, watching as he toed off his shoes and stepped into the shallow water, letting it lap over his feet. Cas smiled down at it, closing his eyes and standing there, still and silent. Finally, he said, "It hasn't changed a bit. Every time we came here, I kept thinking it would look different, but it's still just the same as I remember it."

"It's gorgeous," Dean told him. And so was Cas, against the backdrop of the lake and the sky and trees, head tilted back as he smelled the air. He was damn beautiful, but Dean kept that part to himself.

They set up their blanket and sat by the water, watching the tiny ripples tease the shore with every breeze. In the shade of the trees near the edge of the lake, it wasn't so unbearably hot, but the water was still inviting. Still, they didn't shed their clothes just yet. They sipped sodas and nibbled on PB&J's, and Cas relaxed back against Dean, resting his head on Dean's lap and watching a ladybug crawl across his knuckles.

"I learned to swim here," he said as the beetle crawled up to his fingernail and flew off. "My father taught me."

"I wish I'd had a place this nice to learn to swim. Me and Sammy both learned at the pool down the road from our house. Dad dumped me into the shallow end and then told me to get myself to the edge."

Cas' brow pinched with concern. "That doesn't seem safe."

"Nah, he never would have let me get hurt. I wasn't that far from the edge, and it was only three feet deep. And he gave me one of those pool noodles to help me learn how to keep my head up. I learned, anyway, and quick too. Pretty soon I was diving for coins in the deep end." He laughed. "He let me keep whatever change I could get off the bottom." Cas smiled at that, at least, but that also might have had something to do with the fact that Dean was running his fingers through the dark mop of hair on his lap.

"Do you miss him?" Cas asked after a few moments of comfortable silence. "Your dad?"

Dean shrugged. "Sometimes, I guess. Sometimes I wish he hadn't volunteered to do another tour. But it's just a few more months, and I know he'll come home." He frowned, his fingers still moving through Cas' hair. Talking about his dad wasn't something he ever looked forward to. He'd hoped that he'd be able to keep him from his mind for this week, at least. "You know, my mom was pissed as hell when he enlisted. She never wanted to be a military wife. And she never wanted it for us either. Told him he'd better get his ass back home in one piece. Said he owed it to us."

He trailed off, and Cas didn't say anything, just reached up and touched the back of his hand. Part of Dean wanted to thank him for that.

They'd never been close, he and his dad. They'd never really gotten the chance. Dean had good memories, like that old public pool where he and Sammy had learned to swim and dive, but sometimes he had to search through his mind for longer than he would have liked to find them. One of the earliest memories he had of his father wasn't one of the good ones - settled back in the farthest reaches of his memory banks was a screaming back between his parents the night before his dad headed out for basic training.

After that, he didn't see as much of the guy as other kids saw of their dads, and their mom always looked sad when she thought nobody could see her.

"What does a snipe look like?" Cas finally asked, and Dean felt something that was trying to be a laugh bubble up in his stomach, because he was squinting in that way again - that way that was so undeniably  _Cas_.

"Not all that exciting," he said. "Brown. Kinda pudgy. They don't fly well, so they're easy to catch if you know where to look. But you gotta be careful to cover their eyes once you got 'em. Keep 'em in the dark. Because if you don't, they'll attack you the second they get a chance. And they're small, but they're stubborn little fuckers. They've been known to peck people's eyes out!"

Cas pushed himself up to look at him. "You're making this up," he said, and Dean raised his hands, making himself look like the picture of innocence.

"I'm not! I swear! I caught one my first year of summer camp."

"And did it try to peck your eyes out?"

"No. Shit all over me, though. And their shit smells  _horrible._  Cause they eat those nasty stinkbugs. Love 'em. Makes their shit smell like rotten meat." It was all he could do not to laugh, and now he was starting to figure out why the camp counselors always seemed to look forward to the yearly snipe hunt with the new campers, because making up all this bullshit was fun as hell.

Getting Cas to buy it, though...it wasn't going to be easy. "I'll believe it when I see it for myself," he said with an obstinate little huff.

"Suit yourself, Cas. Don't worry. We'll find one."

It took them almost an hour before they finally got into the water, leaving their clothes on the shore. It felt damn weird to put sunscreen on his dick, but he didn't skimp on it because sunburned junk was  _not_  something he wanted to deal with, thank you very much. The water was cool and refreshing, and they swam out far to the middle of the lake, treading water when they couldn't touch the bottom anymore.

"There aren't any snakes in here, are there?" Dean asked, regretting the fact that he hadn't brought it up until he was already far into the water.

Cas didn't seem worried about it, floating on his back on the surface. "There are," he said. "But the only time I've ever seen them is in the reeds by the shore, and nothing any more dangerous than your average water snake. I'd worry more about the horse-flies."

Horse-flies aside, Dean felt himself slipping into an almost zen-like state, floating on the surface, nothing between his skin and the water. It was oddly liberating. He could see the appeal of nudist colonies a little better now; he'd spent so much time naked or nearly naked since getting to the cabin that it felt weird wearing clothes. Having to go home at the end of the week and get dressed  _every_ morning seemed like a gargantuan chore.

They drifted and floated, diving down every once in a while to wet their hair and getting into more than a few splash wars. Dean never did see one snake, and he thanked his lucky stars for it. It was just the two of them, alone in the water, and it felt so comfortable that he didn't want to be anywhere else in the world.

It hadn't always been so easy. Cas scrutinized him in a way that had made him want to curl up to hide all the things he'd always wished he could erase in the mirror. But Cas didn't care that his stomach wasn't as flat as he would have liked it, and the one time Dean had even hinted that he was at all self conscious of the way his knees bowed outward, Cas had spent so much time planting kisses all up and down his thighs and calves that Dean had been shaking by the time he was done. Hell, he wouldn't put it past Cas to have counted his freckles at least once, maybe more (even the ones on his dick).

God, he was coming close to having a chick-flick moment all in his own head by the time Cas swam over and draped his arms over Dean's shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. Their knees bumped together clumsily as they tried to keep themselves afloat while they did, and they had to pull away – laughing as they did – when Dean got water up his nose and spluttered.

It wasn't until they were on their way back to the cabin that Dean realized he hadn't been quite as generous with the sunscreen as he probably should have been. Everything from the waist down was perfectly fine, but his shoulders and back were stinging like a bitch every time his shirt rubbed against the raw skin. Trying to hide it from Cas was pointless, because he noticed when they were barely halfway back.

"I thought your skin looked red," he said, and he might as well have been chanting "I told you so" after all the times he'd offered to help Dean reach his back when he was slathering on the SPF 50.

"S'not that bad," Dean said, even as he winced because the backpack straps were digging into his shoulders and it hurt like hell.

Cas reached for it. "Why don't you let me carry that?"

Dean didn't say anything, just shrugged it off and handed it to him.

* * *

Cas – thank God – had had the good sense of mind to bring some of that soothing aloe lotion that came in a green bottle and proclaimed "Instant relief from even the worst sunburns!" At the very least, Cas didn't taunt him as he lay on his stomach on the bed in his shorts, pouting into the pillow.

"You're going to have some new freckles when this heals," he said instead.

Dean huffed. "I don't know if I can  _fit_  any more."

"Hmm...you're right. It'll be a tight squeeze." He uncapped the bottle and squeezed some of the lotion onto his hand with an unappealing squelching noise. "At least you weren't so lazy when it came to everything below the belt."

He turned to look at Cas, wincing when it stretched his burned skin. "Hey, I've never had to put sunscreen on my dick before, alright? And if I'm ever in a situation where that's even necessary, I'm not gonna half-ass it." Cas gently nudged his jaw, turning his head toward the pillows again.

"And your shoulders pay the price?" His tone was gentle, not judgmental or chastising. He hadn't even finished speaking when he pressed his aloe-covered hand to Dean's skin, and Dean hissed because holyshitthatwasfucking _cold._

It stung too, and Dean dug his fingers into the sheets as Cas spread it onto the burns on his shoulders and back. It took a few seconds for relief to wash over him like a wave, and he sighed, relaxing against the bed and letting out a half-formed moan.

"Better?" Cas asked him, a smile in his voice.

"Mm."

His hand was back, rubbing more lotion into the back of his neck, fingers massaging his nape as he did. Suddenly Dean could understand why cats loved being scratched on the back of the neck so much because it felt  _damn_  good, to the point where he thought he might actually be in danger of drifting off to sleep. The swim had worn him out, and Cas had some downright magical hands. He didn't know how long he lay there on his belly, but Cas continued to rub a hand absently up and down his back far after the lotion was well and truly slathered on. Finally, he said, "Can you sit up?"

"Mm?"

"You have some sunburn on your face too. This might help."

Sluggishly, Dean hauled himself up, sitting cross-legged on the bed as Cas squirted a dab of the lotion on his thumb and reached out, rubbing it onto one cheek, then the other, then the bridge of his nose, his touch feather-light and his eyes sharp with concentration. Dean's heart was downright  _fluttering_ , and that hadn't happened in a good long time – if anyone asked, he would have told them it never happened at all – but being the center of Castiel's attention could do that to a person.

"There," Cas whispered as his thumb grazed Dean's chin, and Dean grabbed the bottle from him.

"You got some sun on your face too," he said, and he copied Castiel's actions from before. Cas sat statue-still, back straight and gaze trained directly on him as Dean dabbed the lotion onto the sharp angle of his nose and his stubble-covered cheeks.

His heart was pounding, and he couldn't place why. They'd been naked more than they'd had anything covering them since they'd gotten here, and shared at least six orgasms between them in the past twenty-four hours alone, but something about this felt so damn intimate that Dean's face flushed for reasons that had nothing to do with the sunburn.

"That's better," he said softly as he pulled his hand away, and as he did, Cas turned to kiss his palm, holding his gaze as he did. Dean's breath hitched, his fingers curling.

"Thank you," Cas murmured, lips brushing his skin as he spoke, and Dean nodded, dumbly.

God, his eyes were the brightest shade of blue he'd ever seen. Had they always been that damn vibrant?

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. Dean napped and Castiel read a thick novel until he fell asleep on Dean's chest. They drank more margaritas and ate potato chips for dinner, and played rock-paper-scissors to decide who got the shower first when they got sick of smelling like the lake. Cas won, and used most of the hot water, but a cool shower was just what Dean wanted with his skin as angry at him as it was anyway.

He used Cas' shampoo and his conditioner, and stood under the weak spray until cool became cold and he had to get out before he froze his damn balls off. How the hell did a family of six put up with the world's most pathetic water heater when they were all here together? He couldn't wrap his head around it.

Cas didn't seem to hear him padding up behind him, barefoot and dressed only in a clean pair of boxers; he was on the porch again, sat on the steps, running a hand up and down the railing. It was almost a tender gesture, and Dean got the feeling that he'd interrupted something when Cas finally heard him and turned to face him.

"How's your back?" Cas asked him, and Dean blinked and shook his head to bring his attention back to present-Cas, instead of lingering on the Cas from moments ago that had been staring almost despondently at the old wooden railing.

"Fine. Yeah, fine. Water was cold, but that was kind of nice."

"Sorry," Cas said with a little smile. "The water heater is old and it was never the best to begin with." It was still there, that little tug on the corners of his mouth, like something was weighing on his mind and he was trying to fend it off.

Dean sat next to him, hands resting on his knees. "Are you, uh...are you okay?"

"I'm alright. Why?"

"Just...you look distracted or something."

"No, it's nothing. Just thinking, I guess."

He leaned forward, and Dean copied him, lacing his fingers together over his thighs and hunching his shoulders. "'Bout what?" he asked.

Cas shrugged. "This place. How strange it is to see it so quiet." His eyes slipped closed. "It's funny how easy it is to forget what cicadas really sound like. I hear them all the time at home during the summer, but they sound different here."

Dean shifted his gaze toward the field in front of them, staring down that winding gravel road. The fireflies were starting to come out now. "I never thought they could get so loud."

"I know," Cas laughed, softly. "Some people think they're a nuisance, but I love the sound of them."

"Only time I really hear them is at Bobby's place," Dean said. "It's out in the middle of scenic nowhere. He was Dad's old hunting buddy, gave me my first summer job, doing inventory at the scrap yard. Dad took me and Sammy out there a lot when we were little. I remember him saying once, 'Bobby, I don't know how you sleep at night with these damn things making such a racket.'" He laughed a bit. "I think he liked 'em, though. Even though he never said it."

Cas was smiling too, as Dean spoke. It faded, slowly, and they slipped into silence. "Did you see that painting?" Cas finally asked. "The one in the living room, of the fireflies over the lake?"

Dean had passed it on his way out the door. He hadn't studied it closely, but he knew the one Cas was talking about; it was a picture-perfect representation of the lake they'd just been to, the moon reflected in the surface of the water and fireflies dancing across the surface. "Yeah?"

"My sister painted that one too. The last year we were all here together."

His words were heavy with emotion, and Dean could feel it seeping into the air between them like static. "It's nice," he said.

"Yes," Castiel mused, a small, sad smile slipping onto his face again. "Lucy always was the most talented artist of the family."

Dean blinked, and suddenly felt like an idiot for not having made the connection sooner. Cas didn't talk about her much, and Dean had never met her, but he had almost completely forgotten about the eldest Novak sister entirely. "Lucy painted them?" he asked. "All of them?"

Cas nodded. "She did. Even after she left, my parents couldn't bring themselves to take them down. I can't blame them. They are beautiful." He turned to Dean. "Did I ever tell you about her?"

Dean shook his head. "Not much."

That little smile stayed as Castiel spoke. "She was quiet, gentle. A good big sister to all of us. I looked up to her. I really did. Gabriel did more than me, though. Followed her everywhere." He let out a soft little laugh. "She never got along with Michael. They loved each other, as siblings do, but their personalities never mixed well. But whenever we came here..." He looked out at the fireflies blinking and twinkling like Christmas lights scattered over the field. "It was like it all changed. Everyone got along, when we weren't fighting over the shower..."

He took a breath. It shook. "We really felt like a family. I'm happy we had it, if only for a little while. Even if I won't get it again."

Dean put an arm around him, because it just felt like the right thing to do. "Well you know...you still got me...And even if Lucy left, you still got Gabriel, as much of a dick as he is." Cas chuckled a little. "And Anna too. You got people, Cas. You've always got family."

Cas leaned against him, closing his eyes. "Thank you, Dean," he said.

They dragged a couple of folding chairs out of the trunk of the Impala, setting them up in the center of the clearing and sitting with their necks tilted back and their gaze trained up toward the night sky. The stars were vibrant here, so much more than they were in the city. Dean had seen the stars untouched by light pollution before, but it still took his breath away.

Cas listed off constellations like a damn astronomy professor, and pointed them out with one long finger. He told Dean about a few that he and his family had made up on late summer nights, and when he'd exhausted that list, the two of them made new ones. There was Sammicus, the moose; Coorion Light, the drunk warrior; and Castiela, the sexy angel.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there, creating new constellations and rearranging old ones until the pinpricks of light all started to run together on the black backdrop. By the time they were done, Dean felt very small, and he almost thought Cas had drifted off to sleep. The only thing proving otherwise was the steady back and forth motion of the pad of his thumb across Dean's wrist.

"Hey Cas," Dean said when the silence had stretched on long enough.

"Hm?"

"You tired?"

"Not really."

Dean smirked at him. "Then what do you say we try and catch a snipe?"

* * *

He hadn't thought it would be possible, but here they were, hiking down the tree-lined path with flashlights in hand and ears perked for the tell-tale song of the snipe. Dean kept his steps careful and light, avoiding dry twigs or large patches of leaves, eyes glued to the trees above.

"This is ridiculous," Cas said, and Dean shushed him. "There's no such thing as a snipe, is there?"

"Why do you keep saying that? Just trust me, Cas. And be quiet."

He couldn't see it in the dark, but he could _feel_  Cas roll his eyes.

The crickets and cicadas were deafening here, and owls hooted overhead. They swooped through the trees, rustling branches and leaves. It was unnerving, but they stuck to the path. Dean wanted a snipe hunt, but he didn't like the idea of getting lost.

"This snipe hunt is starting to feel like a wild goose chase," Cas muttered a few minutes later, and once again, Dean shushed him. "Dean-"

"Wait!" Cas froze. "Hang on...you hear that?"

They stood there silent, Dean's hand cupped against his ear. Cas leaned closer, head tilted in the direction that Dean was listening. "An owl?" he asked.

"No, not the owl...listen, Cas. Can't you hear it?"

The bushes rustled and something moved in the trees, and the cicadas were putting on one hell of a performance. But Cas' had his concentrating face on, and Dean had to fight back a grin. "There...that's a snipe. I'm sure of it. And- hey! I think I see one!"

As he pointed, Cas turned around, and just as he did, Dean splattered some of his freshly mixed snipe shit onto his own shirt, and then onto Cas' shoulder.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"Aw shit, did it get you too?" He feigned disgust, grimacing down at his shirt. "Dammit...I like this shirt." It wasn't like it wouldn't wash off – it was just some plain yogurt mixed with some dirt and some of the bird crap from the Impala's hood to really sell it. Gross, maybe, and he'd have to wash the fuck out of his hands later, but he had to make sacrifices if he really wanted to make it convincing.

"Dean, this is disgusting," Cas said with a frown, wiping the foul mixture off of his sleeve.

"Hey, I guess they're nervous poopers. What can you do? First time I tried to find one of these suckers, one crapped right on my head. Oh, wait, Cas...I think...maybe..."

He stuck his flashlight in his mouth, holding it as steady as he could as he squatted by a bush near the path. He reached out, carefully, then grabbed a handful of leaves and let them fall away as he held his hands cupped together. He grinned like a madman when Cas took the flashlight from between his teeth. "I got it!" he said, keeping his hands tightly clasped.

"Got what?"

"The  _snipe!_ " He nodded down at his hands. "Come on, let's get back to the cabin."

"Why?"

"Cause the woods are creepy as fuck at night, Cas. And I want better lighting to show you this little guy."

"Dean, there's nothing in your hands."

Dean shushed him again. "Keep your voice down. You'll spook him. Actually, I think it might be a girl. I couldn't really tell."

"Dean-"

"C'mon, Cas. Trust me on this. Just help me get back to the cabin and I'll show you, alright?"

Cas sighed, but followed close by with the flashlight.

By the time they got back to the clearing, Dean was practically vibrating with excitement, and it seemed to be contagious, because for all the effort Cas was putting into playing it cool, he was following up close to him and hunching over his hands, trying to get a better look. "Hold the flashlight, okay, Cas?" Dean said, stepping up on the porch and into the light from the living room window. Cas did, staring intently at Dean's hands.

Slowly, Dean opened his hands up, just enough for him to fake a quick look inside, and he grinned. "Oh, he's a good one. Kinda small, though. They don't get all that big."

"Will you just let me see?" Cas prodded.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, man. I don't want to scare him!"

"Dean-"

"Alright..." He held his hands out, and Cas leaned in, eyes glued to his knuckles. "Cas...I present to you, the elusive snipe!"

He opened his hands in a grand gesture, like he was presenting Cas with some sort of over-the-top carnival prize, and Cas' expression faded from surprise to confusion to frustration. "Oh, you asshole," he spat, but Dean was already laughing.

"You should have seen your face!"

"You're a dick."

"Aw, c'mon, Cas. It was fun, right?"

Cas pouted, looking at the stain on his shirt. "What is this anyway?"

"It's just yogurt mixed with bird crap, Cas. Don't worry."

"You threw  _bird shit_  at me?"

Dean held his stomach, another wave of laughter punching its way out of him. "I'm s- I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. Everyone needs to go on a snipe hunt once, Cas." Cas rolled his eyes, but there was a smile hidden under there too. His pride would heal, and lord knew, Cas would find some way to get back at him for this. But for now, Dean just enjoyed the moment.

"You're still a dick," Cas said, smiling now.

"Yeah, but you love it."

Dean was covered in mosquito bites by the time they went inside and slid into bed together, naked again, with their snipe-shit-covered clothes in the laundry bag, but he was too tired to care, and it was worth it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhere over the course of the night, Cas had spooned up behind him, arms wrapped around his middle, and Dean would have been all over that when he woke up except for the fact that it was barely seven in the morning and already boiling. His back was sweating where it was pressed against Cas' chest, and that wasn't helping his sunburn. He winced as he pulled away, and padded across the hall to the bathroom.

He washed his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His freckles were surrounded by angry pink splotches where he should have put sunscreen, and he had stubble growing along his jaw. He hadn't bothered shaving these past couple of days – why should he? He didn't like the idea of trying now, with his skin still holding a grudge the way it was, so he decided to leave it.

Cas was still asleep in the other room, and it struck Dean that they had gone two nights now without having sex once before bed. The morning romp the day before and the afternoon delight the day they'd gotten to the cabin had been great, but he'd thought they would have gone "all the way" already, so to speak. It was a stupid way to phrase it, even in his head, but he couldn't think of another way to say it. The one thing he had left to give Cas, and he still hadn't even tried yet. They'd gone out hunting snipes instead.

Not that he regretted that, but he couldn't believe it had taken him this long to go for it. And Cas was probably wondering too.

It wasn't like he was going to bring it up, but Dean knew Cas had to be wondering what the holdup was. They'd talked about Dean trying bottoming loads of times, and Dean had even told him that when they got here, when they had the whole week just to themselves and no distractions, he wanted to take the plunge. But it had been two whole nights and he still hadn't. It was either too hot, or they were too tired, or they got distracted.

No longer.

What kind of man was he if he couldn't get over this ridiculous anxiety surrounding Castiel's dick and his ass? He was better than this, and Cas deserved better. He stared at his own reflection, then started the shower.

Cas stirred when Dean came back to the bedroom, clean and determined, and he really took an interest when Dean began mouthing at his neck, his arms wrapping gingerly around Dean's shoulders. Even half asleep, he was careful of the sunburn. Cas murmured his name as Dean straddled his hips, rutting up against his morning wood and nipping at his jaw. "Wanna try," he muttered against Cas' skin.

Cas was alert now, staring up at him. "Try what?"

"You know."

"Now?"

Dean pushed him down against the mattress again. "Yes, now." If he backed out now, he might not get up the courage again. The sooner they got on with it, the better. "C'mon, Cas...I want to."

Cas finally let his eyes slide closed again, hand roving through Dean's short hair as their lips met. "Can you lie on your back?" he asked when he pulled away.

Dean nodded, rolled off of him and carefully lay down on the sheets. His shoulders smarted a bit, but the sheets were soft enough that they didn't scratch his skin too badly. He smirked as he bent his knees and let his legs spread part, giving Cas a full view. Cas crawled between them, kissing one knee, mouth traveling up his thigh, over his hip bone. His lips wrapped around the head of Dean's soft cock, and he let out a half-formed moan.

"You're sure," Cas said, looking up at him pointedly, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah, Cas."

Cas worked at him with his mouth and hand, getting him hard. It took some time, as anxious as he was feeling, but slowly, he started to relax, and his dick took a pointed interest. Cas kissed him everywhere, moving down over his balls and dragging his lips down over his ass.

This was good. This, he could handle with no problem at all. Cas pushed his knees a bit farther apart, spreading his cheeks and pressing his tongue against him in all the most sensitive spots. Dean grasped at the pillow, biting his lip. He was a sucker for this. It had been the last big hurdle he'd had to overcome with Cas – after all, there wasn't really much that could prepare him for another man's tongue in his ass – but once he had, he'd been hooked. Cas' tongue was fucking  _magic._

He heard the tell-tale click of a bottle being flicked open, and he looked down just as Cas was spreading lube over his fingers. "This alright?" he asked when he caught Dean looking, and again, Dean nodded.

"Hell yeah," he said. Fingers were another thing he was absolutely A-OK with.

Cas pressed one slim finger inside, slick and probing, and Dean moaned. He'd done this himself before he'd even met Cas, done some half-hearted exploring himself until that magical day when he'd discovered what a prostate was really for. After that, his exploration had gotten a lot more enthusiastic.

Cas found it without much trouble, as always, and Dean let out a few breathless words of encouragement when he did. He curled his finger just right, dragged it across that perfect little spot over and over until Dean was flushed and panting. He barely even noticed the stretch when Cas pressed another finger in alongside the first, and that had to be a good sign, right?

The third finger was where things started to get rough. Cas' hand was slathered in lube – so much that it took him a try or two to get his fingers in again when he added another, bumping and slipping against Dean's rim a few times before finally sliding inside – but the stretch was still enough for it to feel like an intrusion.

Cas must've sensed it, because he stopped and looked up. "You're tense."

"M'fine."

"No, Dean, you're  _tense._  We can't do this unless you relax. Are you sure you-"

"Yes! I want it, okay? I'm just kinda nervous."

"If you're not ready-"

"I am!" He grabbed Cas' arm, scooting closer a little ungracefully and pushing himself up so that he could kiss Cas on the mouth. He wanted this. He did. He wanted to give Cas this last big thing – his virginity or whatever the hell else he could call it – and no amount of stupid anxiety was going to stop him. They'd take it slow. It wouldn't hurt. Cas would take care of him, and he'd be able to count it a victory and get over this last hurdle for good.

"Cas..." he said. "I want it. Just...go slow. That's all I need. Just go slow. I'll be fine." He smiled, to drive the point home. "I want it, Cas." And at the risk of sounding like he was in a bad porno, he added, "Wanna feel you in me..."

Cas watched him a moment, before kissing him back and gently guiding him back down on the bed. Topping off the lube on his fingers, he pressed them in again, and Dean took a breath, forced his muscles to relax. He took the burn and stretch of it and reminded himself over and over that he wanted this. He wanted this. It was fine. He wanted it. He loved Cas and he wanted him to have this, dammit. He just had to let go.

The stretching sensation slowly subsided, and that had to be a good sign. His body could adjust. He could handle it easy. This was nothing.

Cas leaned over, between his knees, kissing Dean deeply before he sat back again. "You're ready?"

"Yeah."

"I can add another finger if you think it'd be better."

"No, s'okay, Cas. I'm good."

"Okay..."

Cas grabbed a condom from the box on the bed-side table – not one of the flavored ones, which was probably wise – and rolled it on like a damn pro. Then came a generous portion of lube.

They were both sweating; Cas' whole body was flushed pink, and Dean was sure his was too. Even with the fan going full-tilt it was almost sweltering in here, and Cas had to wipe sweat from his brow before he leaned in for the last big push.

Dean's shoulders stung, and when he licked lips, he tasted salt. There was sweat in his eyes, but he kept them locked on Cas as he lined himself up. "You're sure, Dean?"

"Yes, Cas."

"Absolutely?"

"Yes."

"Okay..."

Dean could feel him, thick and hard, pressed against his entrance, and suddenly it felt like all that stretching had been for nothing because Cas felt ludicrously big. He liked to think he was pretty well-acquainted with Cas' dick. He knew Cas wasn't  _that_ huge. But it didn't change the fact that the first push against Dean's rim just made him grip at the sheets because no matter how much he told them to relax, his muscles were  _not_  having it.

"I'm good," he said, more to himself than to Cas. "I'm fine. It's fine. I'm good. I'm okay. It's good. It's-" Another push, another wall of resistance, and Dean groaned. "It's not- not good. Not, good Cas."

Just like that, the intrusion was gone, and he was left feeling a burn down below and a sinking sense of failure in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong?" Cas asked, sitting back on his haunches. "Dean, what's-"

"Shit," Dean hissed as he sat up. He couldn't do it. Even when he'd  _tried,_  he couldn't even let Cas in. All he'd had to do was lie there and let Cas do all the work, and he couldn't even do that. " _Shit._ "

He was up and heading across the hall again, Cas calling after him, voice quaking with worry. He was up and after him, feet slapping against the hard wood, but Dean was already in the bathroom, locking the door behind him and sinking onto the closed lid of the toilet.

A soft knock on the door didn't make him look up. "Dean?" came Cas' anxious voice from the other side. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Please, Dean, talk to me. Tell me what's the matter."

"Never mind, Cas."

" _No,_  Dean. You have to talk to me. Tell me what happened. Please, if I hurt you-"

"I'm not hurt, Cas. Just..." He groaned, running his fingers through his own hair. "I fucked up, okay? I just fucked up."

"How?"

"I couldn't do it!" he spat.

Cas was silent on the other side of the door for a long few moments, and Dean almost thought that he'd left. But then he spoke up again: "I should have realized...Dean, I'm sorry..."

Dean let out a bitter laugh. "Why are you apologizing?"

"Because you obviously weren't ready, and I should have seen it. I should have realized you didn't really want it."

"I  _do_  want it. That's the fucked up thing, Cas. I'd already planned it all out. This was gonna be the place where I finally did it. I should have done it forever ago, but I kept getting hung up on all this stupid shit...and I can't even give you this. I'm the one who's fuckin' sorry, Cas."

Cas' voice was gentle. "Can I come in, Dean?"

"Sure..." he sighed. He'd have to face the music sooner or later. "Sure, Cas. Lemme just-"

He got up to unlock the door, but Cas was already opening it before he reached the knob. "Thought I'd locked the door."

"You did," Cas said. "That lock's been broken for years."

Dean stared at him. "Then why didn't you come in right away?"

Cas shrugged. "You didn't seem to want me to."

He sat down on the lip of the tub, still naked. Dean barely noticed it now, it was so damn normal. He didn't look up at Cas just yet; he couldn't. Embarrassment was making his entire body tingle, settling like a heavy bowling ball in the pit of his stomach, and the low, simmering burn between his legs made him want to squirm from both discomfort and unease.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cas asked him, and Dean had to laugh at that. No, he really didn't, but there was no way Cas was going to drop this, not when he wussed out right when Cas was pushing into him. "Dean...just tell me, please. Did I hurt you?"

Dean looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze. Cas' face was weighted down with concern and guilt. Dean couldn't stand it. "No, Cas. No...that's not what happened. I mean, it hurt, but it wasn't your fault."

"I should have realized you weren't ready. You were so tense, Dean, and you weren't even hard..." He hung his head. "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner." He reached out, slowly, fingers just barely brushing Dean's knee, like a silent little question. When Dean pushed his leg toward him, Cas let his hand settle on his knee, fingers curling around his thigh and his thumb rubbing soothingly. "It's okay, you know. If you're not ready. No matter how long we've been together. There's no deadline for this, Dean."

"I know," Dean muttered, more out of habit than anything else. Of course there wasn't a deadline, but the fact that he wanted it so badly had to count for something, right? How could he be scared of something that he wanted as much as he wanted this?

He hadn't realized he'd been speaking out loud before Cas said, "It might help if you tell me what you're scared of."

"I dunno...pain? Intimacy? Do you want a damn list?"

"Is that all?"

Dean looked at the floor again. No, it wasn't. But he couldn't find the right words to say that. Because no matter how hard he thought about it, that lingering fear that had been in the back of his mind since day one felt like some kind of haze, everywhere and stifling, but impossible to put a hand on. "It's...it's complicated, Cas."

"We've got time," Cas said.

He wasn't used to this, to people trying so hard to get him to open up. His childhood had been a blur of his dad telling him that he had to man up, be strong, look after his brother and have a brave face on for his mom, ever since he'd left for the first time when he was eight. After that, he'd gotten into the habit of reminding himself of that. Whenever he'd wanted to cry, he'd told himself that a real man would know how to dust himself off instead of getting someone else to wipe away tears.

He glanced up, just for a moment. Cas had his damn determined face on again. Looked like the guy really was ready to hash this thing out, one way or another. It took a few long moments of silence, but Dean finally found his voice. "I was in the closet a long time, okay?" he said. "And I stayed that way cause...cause I thought that somehow it...made me less of a man or something."

The words spilled out almost without him realizing, and suddenly it made so much damn sense. Sure, he knew he'd internalized some fucked up shit along the way, but everyone did. But since when did his lizard brain think having sex with his boyfriend spelled danger?

"None of this changes the fact that you're a man, Dean."

"I  _know_  that," he sighed. " _I know,_  but there's some part of me that...that doesn't get the memo, Cas. It's ridiculous, I know, but...God, it's pathetic...why can't I just get over this-"

"It's not something you just get over," Cas said, firmly. "It's a process-"

"Sure, Cas, but hell, we've been dating for half a year now. We've known each other for longer than that, by a hell of a lot. We've done practically everything else. I just can't...I can't let go of this last little thing...fuck, why can't I let go of that part of me that still thinks this is wrong?"

God, he didn't want to cry now. He swallowed back a lump in his throat and forced the burning behind his eyes down. What the hell kind of floodgate had he opened here? Whatever it was, Dean wanted to lock it up tight again as soon as he got the chance, but Cas didn't seem like he was going to let that happen. "You're focusing on the wrong thing, Dean," he said, his voice suddenly soft. When Dean chanced a look up at him, Cas was staring at him like he was the most amazing thing in the world. It was the same look he'd had on his face when they'd mapped out the constellations the night before.

"What's that?" he asked.

"You don't seem to realize how much progress you've made. When we first started dating, you were barely comfortable holding my hand in public. It took you weeks to kiss me outside the house, and when you did, you looked so happy, and so proud. It was the same the first time you went down on me, the first time you realized that you liked my tongue inside you...You were opening up, letting yourself enjoy all these things that you'd never allowed yourself to even try before. You've come so far, Dean, and I am so proud of you."

When Cas was done, Dean felt like he'd just run a marathon. He stared at him, couldn't take his eyes off that face. His words were practically drowning in sincerity, and it was too much, but not enough at the same time. He let out a little breath, tried to get his wind back. "Proud, huh?" he asked, smiling a bit, like making light of it was the only way to keep himself shielded.

"Very," Cas told him with a nod. "And Dean...please just...if there's anything you don't feel ready for, don't force it. You're worth more than that."

"And if I'm never ready for it?" Dean asked, his voice tight.

"Then we won't do it."

A nervous little half-formed laugh forced its way out of him. "What, ever?"

"Ever," Cas said.

"And you wouldn't care?"

Now it was Cas' turn to laugh. "I'm in this for more than just sex, Dean."

Of course he knew that, but it felt good to hear it anyway.

He still couldn't put his finger on it, why he couldn't let go enough to let Cas in – both literally and figuratively – but it almost felt like he'd gotten something out of his system that had been irritating his insides for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like not to having it eating at him. In that one moment he suddenly felt relief wash over him, like when Cas had rubbed the aloe lotion on his burned skin. It took him a while going back over everything that had happened for him to realize exactly what it was.

Cas had stopped.

Sure, maybe he'd wished they'd called it quits sooner, but Cas wasn't telepathic. He couldn't tell what was going on in Dean's head, so there was no way Dean could blame him for that. But the moment he'd spoken up, Cas had stopped, no questions asked, and he was all over him making sure he was alright.

He wasn't used to people showing so much concern for him. He was on the other side of it more often. He didn't usually get help because he was the helper.

He managed a little smile. "God, I feel like I'm cooking in here."

It felt like a damn sauna in the bathroom, even with the small window by the shower cracked open the way it was. The air felt stagnant and stale, and he just wanted to put all this behind him for the moment. "It is hot," Cas agreed. "Maybe a shower would help. What do you think?"

That did sound damn good. Even if he'd showered this morning, he barely felt like he had.

Cas fiddled with the nozzles, and soon he'd found the perfect temperature, like a goddamn shower whisperer. It was cool and refreshing, without too much of an icy bite, and when Dean stepped into the spray, he let out a moan of relief. "God, that's good," he said. "I'm so damn sick of cooking in my skin."

Cas hummed as he pressed a gentle kiss to Dean's shoulder from behind, careful of his burn. "I'm afraid it's hard to avoid in a place like this."

"Gives me an excuse to be naked more," Dean offered, and he felt Cas' lips rasp against his skin as he smiled.

"I'm certainly not complaining about that."

"Same here." He looked back as Cas grabbed the shampoo, pouring some into his palm.

"Close your eyes," he said, and Dean did, just as Cas started threading his fingers through Dean's hair, his touch as gentle as it had been the day before with the lotion. He felt a tiny smile slip onto his lips as he leaned back, humming softly as Cas lathered him up. "It's getting long," Cas murmured.

"Yours is longer, you know," Dean told him.

Cas' hand ran along the length of his jaw. "You should grow a beard. It would suit you."

"I will when you do."

"Is that a promise?"

"Sure. Beards are sexy. Besides, I've always wondered what it would feel like if you went down on me with a beard."

Cas grinned against his shoulder, pushing him forward under the water spray and rinsing the shampoo from his hair.

When he'd leaned back again, hair squeaky clean, he opened his eyes and blinked a few drops of water from his eyelashes, glancing back at Cas as he realized something. "You know, I never came out to you." Cas furrowed his brow at him. "I came out to Sammy, and Mom. Even came out to Dad, over Skype, if you can believe it. All my friends too. Charlie, and Kevin, and Garth and Jo. But I never came out to you."

"You kissed me," Cas pointed out. "On your back porch, the day before New Year's Eve. It was snowing."

"I remember," Dean said with a little smile, because he did. Not the timeframe so much – he could have sworn it had been the day after Christmas – but he remembered the snow falling on their cheeks and his hands being freezing until he'd shoved them in Castiel's coat pockets after they'd pulled away. He remembered having to act natural when he went back inside, like his heart wasn't pounding like crazy and that the flush in his cheeks was just from the cold.

"But I never came out to you," he insisted. "Not really. I never said it."

"Do you need to?"

"It took me years to even be able to think it," Dean said with a shrug. "It feels important." He turned, facing Cas and letting the cool water beat against the space between his shoulder blades and run down his back. "So Cas...I gotta tell you something."

Cas didn't smile, though Dean could see one threatening. He kept his serious face on, and for some damn reason Dean's heart was beating as fast as if this was actually for real. "Yes, Dean?" Cas prompted.

"I'm ah...I'm..."

The words had been so hard to get out the very first time, when he'd lay in his bed the night after the last football game of the season, replaying the moment when he'd looked over at his best friend next to him and realized he'd fallen and fallen hard. Some part of him had known for years, since he'd hit puberty or maybe even before that, but he'd never  _had_  to deal with it before. It had never been so close to home. His parents had never caught him watching gay porn, and he'd never had another guy come onto him before. His sexuality had never been something he'd had to  _wonder_ about.

He said it now as softly as he'd said it to his ceiling that night a little less than a year ago: "I'm bi."

"What a coincidence," Cas said as he reached for the conditioner. "Me too."


	4. Chapter 4

The heat wasn't the only thing that rolled in with a vengeance that day. It was so humid that Dean felt like he was swimming. Even in nothing but his boxers, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He managed to get to the kitchen before slumping down into a chair and stretching his top half across the cool table top, cheek resting against the smooth wood finish. "This is ridiculous," he groaned.

It even seemed to be getting to Cas; he was sweating up a storm, but it had nowhere to go with the air so saturated, so he kept reaching up to wipe it off his forehead and upper lip. "It'll probably rain soon," he said. "I'm surprised it hasn't already. It hasn't been this humid here in a long time."

"Great, so the weather decided to be shitty just for us."

"It's been quite pleasant, despite the heat. But humidity is different. It's stifling."

"You're telling me..."

Cas grabbed a box of frosted flakes, sitting down at the table and shoving his hand inside. "You're not even using a bowl?" Dean chuckled.

"Do bad table manners bother you that much?" Cas asked him around a mouthful of frosted flakes.

"Nah, but...c'mon, not even milk?"

All Cas did was push the box toward him, and Dean relented after a moment or two and grabbed a handful of the dry cereal. He picked a few from the palm of his hand, nibbling on them for a bit before saying, "You know...Cas...about what happened this morning-"

"Don't worry about it, Dean. I told you, it's okay."

"Yeah, but I do want it. You know that, right? I do want you to...you know..."

Cas watched him intently, completely stonefaced. His tone was low and serious when he finally said, "How can you be ready to do it, if you can't even say it?"

Dean blinked at him. "What?"

"If you're not comfortable telling me what you want, then how can you expect to be comfortable enough to try it? You can't rush into it, Dean. The small steps are important too."

"But you know what I mean, Cas."

"How can I be sure if you won't say it to my face?"

He leaned back in his chair. Cas did have a point, he guessed. But what the hell did it matter if he said it out loud or not? Cas just knew. He always seemed to know. It was creepy sometimes. But if this morning had been any indication, maybe his communication skills could be better. It was supposed to be important, right? When it came to sex and relationships and all that complicated crap, that's what all the magazines and guidance counselors the world over seemed to say all the time.

Where was the harm in saying it? It was just Cas sitting across from him. There weren't any judging faces or prying eyes. There was just Cas, and Cas wasn't going to bite him. So he sighed, hunched forward again with his hands clasped in front of him on the table, and he looked Cas in the eye.

"I want you to fuck me, Cas."

He could have sworn he saw Cas wobble a little in his seat, and something definitely flashed through his eyes at that. But he kept his cool, nodded, and said, "Okay. Thank you, Dean."

It had to be, hands down, one of the weirdest exchanges they'd ever had. Who the hell had conversations like these over breakfast? And who the hell said "Thank you" when somebody said they wanted then to fuck them? It was so crazy and so utterly fitting for the two of them in some weird way that Dean couldn't stop himself from laughing.

When Cas asked him what was so funny, he just laughed harder, because he was so damn serious, and didn't even realize how hilarious the conversation was, like he was from another planet or something. That befuddled little, "Dean? What are you laughing at?" was just too much. Dean wrapped his arms around his bare stomach, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

"Tha...thank you?" he forced out. "You s...you said  _thank you_. I told you I wanted you to…" He wheezed. "...to fuck me, and you said  _thank you._ " The words were garbled, just barely a step up from gibberish, he was laughing so hard, and soon enough even the stoic Castiel started to smile.

"Dean, get ahold of yourself," he said with that tiny little upturn in his voice that betrayed the fact that he was trying hard to hold in a laugh himself. It just made it worse. Dean's ribs were aching. His stomach was on fire.

By the time he got his breath back, slouching over the table and hiding his face in his crossed arms, he was flushed and breathless and hotter and sweatier than ever. But his lungs had to be pretty damn clean, at least. "You're too much sometimes, Cas," he said between the giggling aftershocks that bubbled up from his stomach. "God, you're too good for me."

Cas' smile was warm. "Hardly," he said.

* * *

It was so damn hot and stifling that even a short hike to the lake seemed like too much of a feat, so they resigned themselves to a lazy day in the cabin. Every fan was going at full blast, all the windows – that weren't stuck shut – were propped open to let in the occasional breeze, and Dean refused to wear anything more than his boxers.

It was rare that Dean realized just how much he relied on modern comforts like air conditioning. He was half tempted to sit in his car and crank up the air. But he didn't want to drain the battery out in the middle of nowhere like this, so he settled for napping the day away instead.

He and Cas slept, read, even played some poker for skittles. Cas rubbed more aloe into his shoulders around lunchtime and they ate in the shade of the cabin on an old throw blanket laid out on the grass. It was mellow and easy, and Dean settled into his lazy little niche without any trouble. After this morning, he was feeling like he'd finally found some relief after a painfully long bought of emotional constipation, and despite having trouble finding that same reprieve from the heat and humidity, he was in a pretty damn good mood. They had plenty of cold water and the benefit of a nice breeze, and a roof to keep the sun off their backs.

And on top of that, Cas wasn't big on the idea of wearing much in the way of clothes either.

Dean fell asleep on the bed around three o'clock. He hadn't looked at his watch the entire day, but it  _felt_  like three o'clock, which was the perfect time for an afternoon nap. Granted, on a day like this, the whole damn day felt like three o'clock, but nobody could tell him off for napping whenever he damn well pleased, so he dozed to his heart's content.

He didn't remember when exactly he'd fallen asleep, alone, with his book resting on his chest, but he was keenly aware of when he woke up, because Cas was there next to him, very much awake, stroking his hand up and down the hard length of his own cock.

Cas heard him stir and stopped, but didn't remove his hand. "Don't stop on my account," Dean muttered sleepily, yawning as he did and flipping the pillow over so he wouldn't have to rest his cheek in his own drool.

Cas didn't say anything in reply, just let a small smile slip onto his face and turned his head toward the ceiling again, letting his eyes slide closed and slowly starting to move his hand again.

"I can move to the bathroom if you'd prefer," he offered.

"You kidding?" Dean said, propping himself up on one elbow. "It's not like I mind. Besides, you look comfortable. I'm not gonna make you drop everything and move to that damn sauna of a bathroom." He caught his lip between his teeth as he let his eyes rake over the length of Cas' naked body, over his curling toes, tensed thigh muscles and his right arm, steadily moving as he stroked himself. "You could've woken me up if you were feeling frisky."

"I didn't want to interrupt your nap."

"So what, you got a somnophilia kink you never told me about?"

Cas let out a clipped laugh at that. "No. I had every intention of following your good example and getting a few more hours of sleep but..." He let out a soft little moan. "Well...my mind started wandering...I really can move if you're uncomfortable with-"

"Cas, do I look uncomfortable to you?" Dean asked him, smirking a bit as his hand wandered over to Cas' knee and rested there. "You want any help with that?"

"No, but-" He caught Dean's eye. "Kiss me?"

Dean couldn't say no to that. He leaned in, grinning as he did, and he pressed his lips to Cas', lingering there as his hand wandered up and down Cas' thigh. But he never reached between his legs, just let his fingers curl around his hip, thumb stroking against his skin in soothing little circles.

He moved his lips to Cas' neck, and Cas let out a broken moan at that. Such a sucker for neck kisses...Dean was happy to provide as many as Cas wanted. He loved the feeling of his lips scraping against Cas' stubble and trailing along the firm, sharp line of his jaw. He was all but addicted to the scent that he breathed in every time he buried his nose in the curve of Cas' neck: cucumber and melon, lake water, grass and sweat.

Cas' movements were getting faster, falling out of rhythm, and Dean figured he'd probably been pretty close already when he woke up. He nipped at his skin, his hand wandering up Cas' flat stomach. He caught one nipple between the pads of his fingers and pinched, just enough to show he meant it, and Cas  _yelled_ , eyes wide as his body tensed, his hand stilled, and he came over his own fist.

Dean couldn't help but feel pretty damn proud of himself for getting him to fall apart. It was something that never lost its thrill, no matter how many times he did it. He smirked as he pressed a tender little kiss to Cas' nipple. The moment he leaned back, Cas kissed him, hard, and pressed him onto his back.

"I'd like to return the favor," he said, voice rough and breathless, and the moment Dean nodded he slithered down his stomach and took Dean's mind off the heat.

* * *

Time passed in a strange way when they were so far from anyone but each other, with no stress or responsibilities and nothing to do but laze around the cabin or listen to the cicadas singing outside. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd done this much of  _nothing,_ and he definitely couldn't remember the last time he'd had so many fantastic orgasms in the span of just a few days.

Clouds started to roll in overhead in the late afternoon, and wind carrying the heady scent of rain shook the leaves on the tree branches overhead. "There's a storm coming," Cas told him as he leaned over the porch railing. Dean could  _feel_  it more than he could smell it in the air – it felt like the dampness in the air was pushing at some sort of invisible seem, pressure building until there was nothing left for the skies to do but open up and unleash a long overdue downpour.

Dean was looking forward to it. He was sick of feeling like he was cooking in the heat, and a lazy rainy day spent in bed with another warm body was one of the best things in the world.

"Could you get my book from the bedroom?" Cas asked him, snapping Dean out of a thoughtful daze. He nodded and hauled himself up, heading inside out of the wind and going down the hall.

Cas' book was sitting on the bed by the pillow, a thick novel about angels and demons and a war for Heaven and Earth. He'd made some good headway in it since they'd gotten here, but Dean had distracted him from it more than once.

When he grabbed it, something fell from between the pages: a piece of folded paper that Cas had apparently been using as a bookmark.

Dean didn't make a habit of snooping. Growing up sharing a room with his kid brother had taught him the real value of privacy, but the paper was torn and beat up and wrinkled around the edges, nothing that looked important. So he unfolded it just to sate his curiosity, but he only got more and more confused as he scanned over the words on the page.

He could have sworn Cas had told him he'd been rejected from Hopkins. In fact, he remembered the conversation clear as a bell. But here he was, staring at what looked a lot like the first page of Castiel's acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins University.

Cas was waiting for him on the porch, so he folded the page again and tucked it back between the pages where he'd found it before bringing the book to him. As he handed it off, he said, as casually as he could, "I thought you didn't get into Hopkins."

Cas all but dropped the book on the ground, looking like Dean had just accused him of a murder he'd been trying to cover up. But Dean wasn't mad, just confused. Why had Cas told him he hadn't gotten in if he had? He'd never been planning on going to Hopkins anyway – he was headed to Princeton in the fall, like the goddamn genius he was, so why would he bother lying about the fact that he got in at all?

"I forgot I'd been using it as a bookmark," Cas said, sounding distracted as he pulled the leaf of paper from between the pages and unfolded it.

"Yeah, sorry. I wasn't snooping or anything. Just...kinda curious, I guess. But didn't you tell me you didn't get in?"

Cas frowned, looking like he was pleading guilty to some horrible crime. "I did."

Dean tried to keep his tone light, but the worse Cas looked like he felt about this whole thing, the more Dean fretted. He hated fretting, so he forced a smile. "How come?"

Cas turned away from him, sighing as his shoulders slumped. Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the trees, sounding close now. He could smell rain in the humid air. "I didn't mean to lie...I just...you were so upset when you didn't, and...and I...I thought it would make you feel better..."

Dean blinked at him. He remembered the day he'd gotten his rejection letter from Hopkins. He hadn't been surprised, but it had hurt all the same. Hell, Cas had been the one to convince him to apply in the first place, despite Dean telling him over and over that no matter how good his SAT scores were, he didn't have the grades to get into a place like that.

He hadn't even wanted to go, really, but rejection always hurt.

Still, it didn't hurt so much that he wouldn't have been able to muster up some happiness for Cas getting into Johns fucking Hopkins. Cas couldn't possibly think that little of him. When he laughed, it came out harsher than he'd wanted it to. "What, you lied to make me feel better?"

Cas made an aborted attempt to look back at him over his shoulder. "Yes," he said. He sounded like he was on the witness stand.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said, moving closer and leaning against the railing next to him. "I'd have been happy for you. Hell, I  _am_  happy for you. It's Hopkins."

"But I'm not even going."

"Well yeah, cause you got into Princeton, Cas. But still, getting in at all is a big fucking deal."

Cas sighed, pursing his lips and staring down at the grass. "You deserved it just as much as I did."

Dean doubted that. He'd had the test scores and a solid enough essay, but junior year had been rough, and his grades had suffered. His parents were fighting every day, and his dad was out of the house more often than he was home. His mom put on a brave face, but as good as she was at hiding it, she was still bitter about that. So was Sam, and Dean doubted that would ever change.

He'd made up for it well enough his senior year to get into his backup school, but the damage had been done, and Hopkins was still too far out of reach.

But so what? He didn't need a big name like that on his diploma to be happy. Cas was cut out for the Ivy Leagues, but Dean had never been able to picture himself at a private college, not to mention the fact that it would have been almost impossible to pay for anyway.

"It's not about who deserves what, Cas. It's about grades and numbers. It sucks, but it's true. And your numbers were better. Simple as that."

He never imagined something like that would upset anybody, least of all Cas. He wasn't trying to be bitter; he was just stating a fact. Maybe it was cynical, but it was true anyway. He wasn't stupid, but he wasn't particularly smart either, at least not when it came to school. But Cas glared at him. "Why do you always do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Belittle yourself? Find excuses to write yourself off?"

"I'm not, Cas. I'm just...It's just the way things are."

"Well, that doesn't mean you have to think like that, Dean. It doesn't mean you have to resign yourself to a life working at a broken down salvage shop on the outside of town-"

The minute the words left Cas' mouth, regret flooded in so fast Cas almost swayed in place. But the anger that seeped into the pit of Dean's stomach was twice as quick and a hundred times hotter. "What the hell's wrong with working at the salvage yard?" he asked.

"Nothing," Cas sighed. "I didn't mean...I didn't mean there was anything wrong-"

"No, it is. That's exactly what you meant." A laugh forced its way out of Dean's throat, bitter and spiked with anger. It made his whole frame shudder. "Jesus, Cas, look at you. Ivy League bound and you're stuck with a guy who's barely cut out for community college. Well, maybe it's just not my thing, alright? Sam was the school-smart one, not me. But what's wrong with a little loyalty, huh? Bobby saved my ass more times than I could count. What's wrong with me wanting to give something back?"

"Nothing. Dean, you're not listening. I'm just trying to say that you're worth more than settling."

" _Settling?_ " Dean spat. "Just because my life isn't headed down the same path that yours is doesn't mean I'm settling!" He clenched his fists. "What, so you didn't tell me you got into fucking Hopkins because you thought it'd make me miserable? Cause you pitied me or something?"

Cas didn't say anything to that, just stood there, tight-lipped, looking equal parts guilty and pissed off. In the middle of all that anger roiling in his stomach, there was something else, something sour and unwieldy, the slow realization that coming here had been an awful idea. How could it ever lead to anything more than his driving home the fact that he was a complete and utter fuckup? How had he ever thought it wouldn't? He hated himself for not seeing it sooner.

He had to get out of this goddamn cabin. He couldn't take the way Cas was looking at him now. "Fuck it," he said, shaking his head as the words forced themselves out on little more than a growl. "I'm happy for you, man. I hope your life turns out just how you always planned it. But I'll be just fine at community college, thanks. And I don't need anyone making me feel like shit for it."

Cas might have been calling after him, but Dean didn't listen. Just put on a shirt and his shoes and stalked out the front door. The last thing Cas said before he was out of earshot was, "Dean, please don't go." It echoed across the open clearing. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he wouldn't have time to regret it.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean headed into the woods and kept on going.

He walked and walked, each stomp breaking twigs and rustling leaves beneath his feet, his blood pounding in his ears, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. The thunder rolled overhead, directly overtop of him now, and it would only be a matter of time until the heavens opened and unleashed a fucking downpour.

Just what he needed, he thought. Even his inner voice sounded bitter.

He was more angry at himself than he ever could have been with Cas. Sure, he'd been furious for a moment – that blowup had been all too real – but it had passed quickly, and it had left him seething inside with nobody to direct it on but his own goddamn conscience.

He'd ruined it, their little getaway. He should have known that it would backfire. Things always seemed to when he tried to open himself up to other people. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe his armor was thick for a reason.

He'd never thought it would come to something like this with Cas. Sure, they'd had fights, and sure, he'd stormed off a few times, and so had Cas. But this was different, because he hadn't seen it coming. He'd been doing  _well,_  and that was what made it hurt so damn much. Things hadn't gone nearly according to plan, but he'd been feeling good. He'd been feeling like he'd been making some actual progress, which was a pretty damn rare and precious thing in his little world.

He kept walking, kept sweating, kept feeding the anger threatening to burn down to cinders in his belly because if he ran out of energy to keep beating himself up over this he'd have to turn around and face the music, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. Cas would forgive him for being an idiot – he'd been doing that for a long time on a seemingly regular basis. But part of him didn't want Cas to. He'd seen the hurt in Cas' eyes when he'd yelled and pushed past him, had heard that wobbling, pleading edge in his voice when he'd asked him –  _"Please"_  – not to go. Cas didn't deserve any of that, and Dean didn't deserve forgiveness. Not like this.

He wanted Cas to yell. He wanted him to throw a punch or push him against the wall and list all the ways that he was being a moron. But Cas wouldn't do that. He didn't yell when he was hurt or angry or frustrated. He'd always been one of the quiet ones. It had always been a lot more terrifying than the prospect of seeing him yell.

But somehow the idea of Cas forgiving him for all his faults was even more frightening. Because he had a hell of a lot of them, and if someone could still find something worthwhile under all the crap, what kind of fucking standards were they setting for themselves?

A raindrop landed on his forehead, sliding down his temple, and he cursed. Maybe the rain would cool him down. But it was getting dark with all the clouds overhead, and all these fucking trees looked the same, and-

When the hell had he stepped off the path?

It had been right there, under his feet, worn stone revealed with every shuffle of his sneakers that knocked the leaves away. He didn't remember stepping off of it, but he looked down, kicked some leaves and brush away and saw only loose dirt.

He turned, and turned again, saw only trees and trees and more fucking trees. No lake, no cabin, no clearing, and no path. His stomach dropped almost all the way down to his knees.

There weren't any bears or mountain lions around. He knew that much at least, but there were snakes, and spiders, and poison ivy. He was no expert on the central United States woods, but he knew enough to recognize what kind of a shit situation he was in, especially with a storm rolling in with a vengeance.

The rain had started to fall in earnest now; it wasn't quite a downpour, but it soaked through his T-shirt quick enough, and it was getting harder and harder to see where he was going. Not that it mattered. He was no more lost than when he'd first noticed the path was gone, but it sure felt like he was.

At the very least, the rain did quench his anger, but it replaced it with a cold, creeping fear that clung to his entire body like his wet socks were clinging to his feet, chafing and bunching up with every unsteady step. He couldn't hear the cicadas anymore, just the sound of the rain and his own ragged breathing.

If he could only find the lake, then he could find the path and make his way back to the cabin. He'd pay better attention. He wouldn't lose it this time. He'd get back to the cabin and the Impala and Cas, and he'd hang his head and mutter some apology and get out of his wet clothes and resign himself to sleeping alone for the night.

God, what if Cas had gone looking for him? What if he lost track of the path too? What if he was wandering through these woods just the same as Dean was, lost and stumbling and alone? What if Dean got back to the cabin and Cas wasn't there? What the hell would he do then? How the hell would he live with himself if something happened to-

" _Dean!_ "

He could barely hear it over the rain beating against the leaves of the trees, but that voice was unmistakable. What he'd thought was just an echo of his own steps crunching and dragging across the ground was actually another set of feet doing the same, and he spun in place, looking in every direction for the source. "Cas?"

"Dean-" Cas all but slammed into him, and they just barely managed to avoid tumbling into the mud together. Cas' hand clamped down on his shoulder to steady him, pulling him back from the brink of losing his balance. "Dean, you fucking idiot. What the hell were you thinking?"

He deserved that. "I don't...I don't know...How the hell did you find me?"

"You didn't wander far off the path. Not that it makes a difference with conditions like this." He glanced disdainfully up at the clouded sky. "I can't even tell you how dangerous and idiotic that was."

"Can you tell me back at the cabin?" he asked, and it was the kind of smartass remark that probably should have earned him a punch in the arm, but Cas seemed just as eager to get out of the rain as he was, and who could blame him?

They got back to the path in no time, like Cas had a fucking built-in GPS in that skull of his or something, and after a long, uncomfortable walk, they finally made it back to the cabin. Dean had never been happier to see a building. Its creaky wooden floor might have well have been made of the fluffiest down pillows money could buy, as comfortable as it was when Dean got inside the door and sank down onto it, head leaning back against the wall.

He was dripping wet, and just this side of shivering – he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be  _cold_ – but relief flooded through him anyway. He didn't know if it counted as a near-death experience. After all, what were the chances of him actually dying out there? He didn't know, and he didn't exactly want to try and work them out. Either way, he was safe now, and so was Cas.

Now they just had to talk. That killed his endorphin high pretty damn fast.

"Never do that again," Cas chided as he sat down next to him, panting.

"I know...I know it was stupid-"

"No, Dean. Look at me."

Dean forced himself to. Cas was staring at him, and he'd dialed his Intense-o-Meter up to eleven. "Do you have any idea what kind of danger you just put yourself in?"

"I..." He couldn't quite get the words out.

"That outburst of yours could have gotten you killed. I was lucky to find you. This storm is only going to get worse. Who knows how long it'll last? What if I hadn't found you? What if you'd been out there all night? What would you...what would I have..." Suddenly it was like someone had opened a trap door in Cas' skull, and all that anger just melted right out of his face. He slumped, looking as tired and worn as this old cabin they'd called home for the past few days, and he leaned forward against Dean's shoulder.

He reached out, gripping Dean's shirt, fingers digging into the fabric with a desperation that left Dean without any words to offer in comfort. "I was so worried," Cas gasped into his shoulder. "I didn't know what to do...I thought...I was so scared..."

His voice was so soft that Dean could barely hear him, and he could only stare. He tried to say something – anything – but the words just wouldn't come. It was like someone had their fist around his vocal cords, and he couldn't make a damn sound. All he could do was listen to the rain pounding against the old slate roof and feel Cas' fingers twisting the wet fabric of his shirt.

"M'sorry..." he finally forced out, and it sounded so insincere that it almost made him wince. It wasn't that he didn't mean it, because he felt so guilty that part of him wanted to throw himself on the scuffed up floor and beg for the forgiveness he was sure he didn't deserve, but it didn't feel like anything he could say would make any difference. He could apologize a thousand times and he wouldn't feel any better, and neither would Cas.

The extent to which he'd fucked up was starting to make him dizzy.

So he didn't say anything, just leaned back against the wall and let the back of his head rest against the old wood, and they sat there in silence for what felt like an hour at least. Slowly, Cas pulled away from him, copying his position and staring up at the ceiling just like he was.

And then Cas did something that Dean couldn't have foreseen in a million years. He smiled.

It was a shy little thing, but it was genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes and accompanied by a thin half-laugh forced out of his nose. "Look at the two of us," he said. "We make one hell of a pair."

Dean turned and stared at him, waiting for his smile to dissolve and be replaced with a scowl, waiting for him to get up and push him away and yell and scream out his frustration and his anger at him until there was no question left in Dean's mind about how badly he'd screwed this trip up. But none of it ever happened, and Cas just kept smiling as he turned to meet his eye. It looked like he was waiting for a reply, so Dean forced out a soft, "Yeah...I guess."

"I mean it," Cas insisted, still smiling, though it had become a little softer now. "It's strange, the kinds of people you wind up meeting, the kinds of people you wind up falling for. When we first met, I thought you were a homophobic ass with a hard-on for classic rock and muscle cars. I wasn't even thinking about dating you."

Despite everything, Dean had to let out a tiny little laugh at that, and it surprised Cas as much as it surprised him, from the looks of it. "Gee, Cas. Tell me what you really think." That made Cas smile again. "Well, you're half right at least."

"True..." Cas nudged him. "You are sort of an ass." When Dean met his gaze again, Cas was looking at him in that way that only Cas could. Dean had never seen that look on anyone else. It looked like it belonged in Hallmark commercials and the movie adaptations of cheesy romance novels, but even Ryan Gosling couldn't pull it off the same. It wouldn't have the same overwhelming amount of warmth, like Cas was baring his soul through those damn baby blues.

Nobody but Cas had ever looked at him that way. And that scared him shitless. It always had, and maybe it always would, but his heart was racing all over again, and he knew it wasn't fear leading it on another lap around the track.

"I'm sorry," Cas said, and it seemed so out of place that for a moment Dean could have sworn that he'd said it without realizing. What the hell did Cas have to apologize for, coming after him when he stormed off? "I shouldn't have said what I did...It was wrong of me to-"

"Oh c'mon, don't do that, Cas," Dean told him, because there was no way he was letting Cas apologize for this, not when he'd been the one being a dick. "It wasn't your fault. I blew it up into this whole big thing, and I acted like a...well, an ass. I...I handled it bad, alright? I'm sorry."

Cas blinked at him. He wasn't used to rendering the guy speechless. But soon enough, that little smile was back, and Cas nodded. "Thank you," he said, and it was like a weight rolled right off his shoulders and he could breathe again.

They slipped into silence, and sitting there in wet clothes sure wasn't comfortable, but at least he wasn't sweltering anymore, and he didn't quite have the motivation to move again yet. So they sat, and they listened to the rain and the thunder and watched the lightning illuminate all the dark corners of the living room and kitchen. Cas let his eyes slip closed, and Dean wondered if the guy was going to fall asleep right then and there, but after a long, stretched out silence, he spoke again.

"This wasn't how I thought this week would go."

Dean felt another stab of guilt, but did his best to push it right on down. "Yeah, I know. Me neither. I'm sorry, man."

"You don't need to apologize for it, Dean. I didn't mean it as a bad thing." He'd opened his eyes, and he was staring up at the light fixture on the ceiling above their heads. It rattled and swayed with every roll of thunder. "It's like I was saying. Sometimes the things you don't plan for are the best things. Though, chasing you through the woods in a storm wasn't exactly pleasant."

"Not wrong," Dean said.

"Still, I'm glad we didn't have a script. You can't go through life with a schedule. It doesn't work that way." He was looking at him, and Dean knew that he was talking about more than just this fight. He was talking about this morning too, and about everything that had led up to it.

But Cas was right. He'd spent enough time beating himself up because he wasn't reaching the milestones he'd thought were laid out in front of him in a neat little one-two-hop pattern. Maybe there weren't any footholds. Maybe it was supposed to be more like jumping into a river and letting the current take him where it wanted.

"Go with the flow," he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, just...getting caught up in metaphors. God, that's why I couldn't stand English class. All that damn flowery language."

"I'm more of a fan of similes myself," Cas said.

Dean patted him on the knee. "Course you are."

Cas' hand settled on top of Dean's, holding it there, and it was such a small gesture, but it made something warm swell up in Dean's chest. There was so much comfort in the feeling of Cas' fingers working their way between his own. He felt the wall start to go up, and he forced it back down again, because dammit, they'd been dating so long – and known each other even longer – that Cas had seen the worst of him, and yet he was still  _here._  That had to count for something.

"We should get out of these wet clothes," was all Cas said. He never asked if their fight was over, and Dean didn't either. Neither of them needed to, because they already knew the answer to the question.

It took some real effort to stand. All the running and stumbling in the woods had tired out his legs and they felt like jelly as they made their way down the hall to the bedroom. The lights were off, but neither of them bothered to turn them on. Instead they shut the door and started shucking off their wet clothes.

Dean was out of his own plenty quickly, his clothes lying in a wet heap on the floor on top of his shoes. He really should have hung them somewhere to dry, but that could wait until later, because it was the first time he felt  _cold_  in so long that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. He stood there, naked, reveling in the feeling of goosebumps erupting all over his skin.

It got uncomfortable pretty damn fast, but it beat standing there in wet clothes anyway. At least he wasn't chafing anymore.

The storm had cooled the air so fast that it damn near gave him whiplash. The humidity was being washed away by the second that after days of practically swimming through it, he felt like he'd broken the surface and he could finally take a deep, refreshing breath.

Cas undressed more slowly, peeling off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants, and Dean didn't even bother trying to pretend he wasn't looking. Cas caught his eye, smiled that little smile of his and kept going. There wasn't anything sexual about it; it wasn't a striptease, but there was something intimate about it anyway. Cas had blushed the first time Dean had seen him naked, but now it was as natural as breathing.

Dean's eyes raked over the smooth curve of his back, washed almost white in a flash of lightning. Cas reached up, ran a hand through his hair and shook the moisture out, until it was sticking up in all directions like curly dark spines. Dean stared until he realized he couldn't  _stop_ staring, and there was this undeniable little tug of something warm and stubborn. This tiny little pull of want.

He really,  _really_  wanted Cas.

But it wasn't just sex, though he wanted that too – the way his dick twitched against his thigh was proof enough of that. He wanted to get closer, to smell him and warm up his skin because Cas had always had cold hands so he had to be even chillier than Dean was from getting soaked by all that rain. He wanted to kiss his neck and pinch his nipples and watch him go crazy and lose all that composure that he boasted day after day. And as selfish as it was, he wanted Cas to keep looking at him the way he had earlier, because it was terrifying and unfamiliar and so goddamn  _amazing_  that he wanted more. When Cas looked at him, it made him feel like he was some precious, irreplaceable, beautiful thing, instead of the fuckup that he kept seeing in the mirror.

Whenever he looked at himself he saw everything he'd done wrong and all the people that he'd hurt, but Cas looked at him like he looked at the constellations on a clear night.

Was it really selfish to want more of that? Maybe it was. But dammit, maybe he'd earned it. Was it really so wrong to feel like he'd earned something that good?

Cas was looking at him, in a different way now, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

He had another T-shirt in his hand. Dean reached out and gently took it from him. Cas didn't try to pull it away, but the ridge between his eyebrows deepened. "Dean?"

"I want to try again," Dean said.

Confusion slipped into realization and then into something else. Cas mirrored Dean's own expression, determined and pensive. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes."

Cas nodded, almost casually, like Dean was listing off things he wanted to get from the grocery store instead of telling him that he wanted to give him the last thing he still hadn't given yet. "Can you sit back on the bed?" Cas asked him, and Dean nodded back.

He crawled onto the bed, and for a second he thought about how annoying it was that he was probably getting the sheets wet, but it was fleeting at best. His heart was beating quickly, but it wasn't pounding against his ribs like it had been before. He almost described it as fluttering, but his heart didn't  _flutter_ , dammit. This wasn't the climax of a fucking discount erotic romance novel.

Cas followed him onto the bed, crawling up between his knees and pressing a firm, wet kiss against his lips. His skin wasn't cold like Dean had figured it would be after running through the rain – it was  _hot._  Cas was a solid, warm presence above him, and it felt so damn good that he couldn't resist the urge to pull him down closer.

Thunder rolled outside as Cas kissed down across his chest, sucking marks into his hip bone and making tiny encouraging noises when Dean tugged at his hair. He dipped between Dean's legs, mouthing at his cock and coaxing it toward hardness. It didn't take long this time, and Dean almost wanted to laugh at that, because he'd heard again and again how dudes' dicks had a one-track mind, but his seemed to know what was best for him better than he did sometimes.

He was pulled out of his little wandering headspace when Cas rolled off of him and settled onto his back beside him. "Why are you stopping?" Dean asked with a little whine, because what Cas had been doing down there had been starting to feel really damn good.

"I'm not stopping," Cas said, and he reached over and gently pulled Dean to straddle his hips, settling down on the tops of his thighs. "If we're going to do this, you should be in control. Your pace, Dean."

He hadn't realized how much he needed that until Cas said it, and the words to express how much he appreciated it didn't seem to want to come, so he just leaned in and kissed him instead.

It took some fumbling to get at the bottle of lube that was on the bed side table from the morning, but Dean managed to grab it, and he pushed it into Cas' hands. "Want you to do it," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Besides, I don't bend that way very well. It'll be easier."

Cas nodded again, and tugged him forward by the hips before spreading some of the lube over his fingers. He reached between Dean's legs, his slicked up hand nudging behind his balls. This time, when he slid one finger inside, it didn't feel like anything close to an intrusion. It was  _good_ , long and slim and familiar. The angle was a little awkward, and Dean had to push up on his knees to keep from pinning Cas' arm under his legs, but it was okay, because it finally felt like it was supposed to be happening, and he wasn't just trying to grin and bear it.

He nibbled at Cas' neck, grinned when Cas faltered a bit and moaned when he slipped in another finger and brushed up against the sweet spot. "I can't move my arm very well," Cas admitted to him with a frustrated little grimace.

"Want me to scoot up a little?"

"That might help, yes."

So Dean did, and it seemed to help some. On top of that, the change in angle made Cas' fingers press against his prostate every time he rocked his hips back against them, so he could definitely handle this. No problem whatsoever.

He did feel a little pinch of anxiety when Cas pressed a third finger against his rim, because this was where things had started going south the first time. But instead of letting it get to him or trying any lamaze-like breathing techniques to get him through it, he just kissed Cas instead, and before he knew it, he was rolling his hips back against three fingers stretching him open. It took some getting used to, because three fingers was more than Cas normally slid in when he got adventurous during a blowjob, but he was starting to see why people liked this sort of thing so much.

On top of the little brushes against his prostate and friction of Cas' fingers around his cock stroking in time with every gentle rocking motion of his hips, there was this feeling of  _fullness_ that was just so damn satisfying in and of itself that he wanted more.

"Better?" Cas asked him, breathless already and flushed in the face, from what Dean could tell in the low light. He nodded, grinning at him. When they'd tried this before, he hadn't been anywhere near hard, but he was now, precome dribbling onto Cas' stomach.

"Awesome," Dean told him. "But I don't wanna come on just your fingers."

Something flashed in Cas' eyes at that, and it sent a pulse of heat right to his groin. That was another look that Cas did damn well, besides that awe-filled gaze of wonder that he liked to adopt in the quiet moments between the two of them. It was that possessive, hot, I'm-going-to-rip-those-clothes-off-of-you-the-moment-we're-alone look that made Dean's stomach flip like nothing else.

It took a little clumsy fumbling through the dark to find the condoms again, but soon enough, Dean was back to straddling Cas' hips, hyper aware of just how hard and breathless and flushed they both were. Cas looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, lips just barely parted, his fingers pressing against the meat of Dean's thighs. The storm had picked up even more since they'd started, and rain was hammering furiously against the windows. Dean didn't concentrate on that, though – he was too busy rolling a condom onto Cas' erection and slicking it up with lube.

Cas' hands were everywhere, rubbing up and down his arm from wrist to elbow as he stroked him, that pink tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched. Dean pressed a kiss to the tip of him and positioned himself again, meeting Cas' eyes in a flash of lightning. "You're sure?" Cas asked as Dean lined himself up, reaching back and pressing Cas' cock good and snug against his rim and pushing back against him.

"Yeah," he said, "Damn sure."

He rocked his hips back, gave one last little push, and before he knew it, Cas was in.

Holy shit, he was  _in._

He let out a soft little gasp that was dangerously close to a whimper, and he sat there for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the reality of things. Because after all the time he'd spent working himself up over this, it was weirdly...anticlimactic. There was no blinding pain, no fireworks going off in his head, no feeling of anything life-changing happening at all, just a last little bit of resistance and then this feeling of being, well,  _full._  It wasn't bad at all, but it was different than anything he'd felt before, different than fingers or Cas' tongue, and it made sense, he figured, because Cas was no small guy. He stayed still, let out a breath, then opened his eyes with a shy little blink and looked down at Cas.

His eyes were screwed shut tight, his jaw slack, and it was the most arousing thing Dean had ever seen. He'd always been a huge fan of Cas' O-face, because seeing the guy who always seemed as cool as a damn cucumber absolutely lose it was hot as hell. But this was different, because this wasn't the bone-shattering pleasure of a fantastic orgasm etched into Cas' features – it was overwhelming in a different way. And he realized suddenly that Cas was feeling the inside of him, feeling all those muscles squeezing around him, all warm and tight and slick. He'd felt it too, when he'd been the one doing what Cas was doing now, and those first few moments when he pressed inside were always nearly too much to handle.

He grinned as Cas finally opened his eyes, and he let out a little laugh, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Castiel's. "Good?" he asked.

"I should be asking you that," Cas said, voice tight and rough around the edges.

Dean nodded, still smiling and realizing just how out of breath he was, and how damn warm his face felt now. "Yeah," he breathed. Just to test it out, he gave a little experimental roll of his hips, and Cas buried his surprised moan into the crook of Dean's neck. Yeah, it was definitely good. Very good. Every movement reminded him exactly where Cas was, snug and tight inside him, stretching him from the inside out, nudging against his prostate just enough to make a gentle, warm sort of pleasure bubble up in the pit of his belly.

He wasn't sure if he'd expected it to be life-changing, or if he thought it'd be different somehow. It wasn't, really. It was...

It was  _sex._

They'd been doing it for ages, and sure, maybe they hadn't been doing it quite like this, but Dean figured he could damn sure get used to it, because the faces Cas was making as he started moving his hips in earnest were some that he wished he could snap pictures of and keep in an album under his bed. He settled for devoting them to memory and kissing those swollen pink lips of his whenever the mood struck.

The thunder rolled, and he winced a little as Cas sat up, bending his knees and letting Dean settle back on his haunches, their chests pressed tight together. Cas wrapped an arm tight around Dean's shoulders, and Dean settled back down, getting comfortable again, and gasping in surprise when things suddenly went from feeling pretty damn okay to really fucking good.

It took a little awkward maneuvering for Cas to scoot back a bit, leaning his back against the carved wooden headboard as he looked up at Dean with that look in his eyes again, that damn adoring gaze of his.

Cas shifted, somehow, and Dean wasn't quite sure what he'd done, but he let out a strangled cry that he hadn't realized he'd had in his throat when he felt a jolt of pleasure from Cas hitting that sweet spot just right. "Right there," he heard himself saying, his voice so wrecked that it barely sounded like his own.

Cas did what he asked, moving his hips that way again, and it wasn't quite the same spot as before, but felt damn good anyway, and Dean couldn't help but laugh a little as Cas leaned in to kiss him.

He was glad for the rain and thunder because there were some downright gross squelching noises coming from between their bodies, but sex was always a little gross, now that he thought about it. What did he care of they were making a mess, or if it looked awkward when he braced his hands on Cas' shoulders and pushed up on his knees so he could move his hips more easily? He was too wrapped up in what he was feeling to care, and from the look on his face, Cas was too.

"You close?" Dean asked, another damn giggle forcing his way from his throat as he did – since when did he get so giggly during sex?

Dean wondered if Cas was blushing as he nodded, because his cheeks definitely seemed to get a little pinker, but he was already flushed in the face and the room was dark anyway, so it was hard to tell. "Sorry," Cas forced out.

"Sorry for what?"

"I usually...don't have this much trouble lasting..."

Well, he was right about that, but...wait, was Cas holding back? His eyes were shut tight, and his fingers were digging hard against Dean's skin, and Dean realized he must be. "Am I just that good?" he asked with a playful little smirk.

Cas let out a clipped laugh. "Well...It's all a little new to me," he said. "I've never topped before." Dean paused, stilling his hips, and Cas opened his eyes to look up at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just...you didn't tell me that."

"Oh," Cas said. "I thought I had...sorry."

Dean just nuzzled against his hair, kissing the first bit of skin he found. "Don't worry about it, Cas. It's a first for both of us, then. Kinda poetic, huh?"

Cas laughed again, nose pressing against Dean's chest as he hugged him close. "Just wait...I just need a moment...if that's alright." His hands wandered all up and Dean's back, and he pressed kisses all over Dean's chest as he waited. It was a little uncomfortable, having Cas in there without moving at all, but he could handle it. It was such a small thing compared to everything else.

Finally, Cas let out a soft little, "Okay," and he started moving again. Dean got his rhythm back without much trouble, and Cas' hand wandered between their bodies, fucking  _finally_ doing what Dean had been hoping he would, fingers wrapping around his dick and stroking.

Now they were getting somewhere. It had felt good before, but not quite fast-track-to-orgasm good. But now that Cas had a hand on him, he was getting there almost embarrassingly fast. His rhythm started to break, his breath edged with hitching little moans, one hand braced on Cas' shoulder and his other grasping at the headboard.

His leg was cramping, but suddenly he was  _right there_ , and he looked down at Cas, with every intention of telling him. "M'gonna..." was all he managed to get out before Cas silenced him with a kiss.

"Gorgeous when you come," Cas said, and that did it.

Dean came, groaning all the way, fingernails raking across Cas' skin. It was a gut punch of an orgasm, rushing out of him and leaving his muscles sore and a sticky mess all over Cas' fingers. He shuddered as he came down, fumbling with Cas' hand to pull it away from his over-sensitive dick. But Cas was still tense, his jaw set as he looked up at him, and it took Dean a moment to shake away the post-high fog and realize that oh yeah, Cas hadn't come yet.

He leaned close, tilting his head and pressing sloppy kisses all along Cas' neck as he rocked back against him, and Cas tensed, fingers pressing hard against Dean's back as he let out a broken, gasping moan.

He was such a damn  _sucker_ for neck kisses.

* * *

The storm had passed by the time they got cleaned up and slid back into bed, naked and sated. They lay on their sides, facing each other, the blanket up to their shoulders to keep off the chill in the air from the rain. Cas scooted a little closer, tangling their legs together.

"Dude," Dean said.

"What?"

"Your toes are fucking freezing."

"I know. I was hoping you could warm them up." He pressed them harder against Dean's calf, and Dean rolled his eyes and let Cas use him as a damn toe-warmer.

And just because he was feeling extra sappy, he rested his head on Cas' chest, snuggling up close. Cas took his cue, pressing a kiss to Dean's hair and running his fingers through it, his touches soft and gentle. "So that's it," Dean said, letting his hand absently skim across Cas' ribs.

"That's what?"

"You officially have my virginity."

Cas stifled a laugh at that. "You were hardly a virgin before today, Dean."

"Well, yeah, but you know what I mean."

Cas sat up, and Dean's head slipped off his chest as he did. He pouted, because he'd been comfortable and warm, but Cas waited until he met his gaze. "I always found the concept a little strange."

"The concept of what? Virginity?"

"The idea that you can  _lose_  something just by having sex."

Dean blinked at him, and he was about to try and come up with something to say to that when Cas continued. "Do you feel like you lost anything?"

"What?"

"Tonight. Do you feel like you lost anything?"

Cas had his serious face on, so Dean fought the urge to make a joke about having his backdoor cherry popped and instead told him the truth: "No."

After a moment, Cas let out a breath and smiled, looking almost relieved. "I'm glad."

He lay back down, patting his chest, and Dean took the invitation and went back to using him as a pillow. He stared out the window, watching the last few lazy raindrops pattering against the screen outside, the thunder rolling far away with a barely audible distant rumble.

"Thought it'd feel different," he mumbled against Cas' skin after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"What? The sex?"

"No. Well, kind of. I didn't know what that'd feel like. But I mean, I thought this would feel different. Thought I'd feel different."

"Do you feel any different?"

"No, not really. That's the weird part."

Cas toyed with his hair. "I don't think it is, really," he said. "You don't look any different to me."

It was comforting to hear, in a way. All of it seemed so silly looking back on it now. He wondered why the hell he'd gotten himself so damn worked up over this in the first place. He'd built it up into this life-changing experience that was going to change him as a person, change his and Cas' relationship somehow, whether for better or for worse. But in the end, he felt the same as ever, and Cas was just as warm and familiar beside him as he'd always been.

It wasn't a big deal, and as much as he wanted to feel like shit for wasting all that time working himself up and over-analyzing all of it instead of just accepting it for what it was and letting it come naturally, he took a breath, and let it go. There was nothing he could do to change any of that now, and he damn sure wasn't about to let it ruin his afterglow.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days passed quietly. The worst of the heat was over with, thank God, and a constant breeze kept the humidity at bay. They spent their time floating in the lake, or stretched out on the soft grass watching the stars, or wrapped up in each other. By the end of the week, they were sun-kissed and mosquito-bitten and so relaxed and sated that Dean kept finding this goofy smile slipping onto his face whenever his mind started to wander.

They took their time on their last morning at the cabin, woke each other up with soft, playful touches and kisses and eventually dragged themselves out of bed and into their clothes. They started packing the car, got distracted, wasted an hour or so on the living room couch, then eventually got back to getting the last of their things into the trunk.

By the time they were done and Dean had slammed the trunk closed and wiped his hands, it was almost two in the afternoon, and Cas was standing in the shade of the porch, staring up at the cabin with his arms wrapped around himself. There was something in his eyes, something sad and heavy, and it set a little feeling of worry gnawing at Dean's gut, so he went over to him and wrapped his arms around Cas' waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.

"You okay?" he asked, and slowly, Cas nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I'm just going to miss this place is all."

That was all? Dean smiled against his skin, nuzzling against it. "Well, you can come back next summer. It'll still be here."

When he looked up, Cas was smiling, but it was a sad little thing, and Dean frowned. "Right?"

Cas looked back at the cabin, and Dean pulled away, gave him some room. "We came here every summer when I was little," he said. "Me and my parents and my brothers and sisters. When we were young, we didn't notice the old floorboards or the missing tiles in the bathroom, and we didn't mind sharing such close quarters with each other." When he looked back at Dean, he was still smiling, but it seemed to have gotten even heavier. His eyes were sparkling, but no tears fell. "This week...it was the closest I've come to feeling that same sense of belonging here since I was little."

"Cas...what's the matter?" He had to ask, because he knew that there was something else that Cas hadn't told him yet. Part of him didn't want to know, and part of him already knew.

Cas' smile never faltered, even as he said, "Now that I'm going off to college, my parents didn't see much use in keeping the place. They're putting it up for sale at the end of the summer. People have had their eyes on this land for a long time, but I doubt any of them would bother keeping this cabin, old as it is."

It was strange, but Dean's heart sank at that. He'd never even seen the old place before this week, but there was something about it that made him feel attached, even after just a few days. Despite the heat, and despite the bugs, and the creaky floorboards, and the leaky ceiling, he was sad to go, and knowing that he probably wouldn't see it again, part of him didn't want to leave at all.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked him, and Cas just shrugged.

"There was no point," he said. "There's nothing I can do to change it. I didn't want to dwell on it. I didn't want to treat it as the last time I'd spend here." His smile was forced this time. "But you made me forget, for a little while. So thank you, Dean."

And just like that, Cas had his arms around him. What else could Dean do but hug him back?

* * *

The drive home could wait.

It wasn't that hot out, so they went down to the lake one last time, sat by the water and watched it lap at the shore. They took off their shoes and dipped their toes in, sitting there in silence as they watched the ripples skim out over the top of the water.

"If this was the last time you were gonna come here, why did you come with me and not with your family?" Dean asked him.

Cas never looked away from the water, looking pensive. "Michael is off in New York, working his way up the ladder of the business world. Lucy is God knows where. I haven't heard from her in a long time. Balthazar hasn't been home since he went to study abroad in France and fell so in love with it, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He sends me postcards sometimes. Anna is spending the summer in Vermont, doing an internship for art school." He shrugged. "They're grown and flown, as the saying goes. They don't need this place anymore. And besides, I wanted to bring you here. This place is important to me, and so are you. It only made sense."

They didn't talk much after that, just sat there and enjoyed the sounds of the breeze in the trees and the water on the shore. They didn't start to make their way back to the car until it was almost five o'clock, and they walked slowly. There wasn't a rush, after all.

By the time they got back to the clearing, Dean was feeling groggy from his laziness, and he stretched by the Impala, readying his muscles for a long drive back home. He didn't want to leave this place. It was so peaceful and quiet, far from anything that could hurt him. Part of him wanted to stay out here, with Cas, to spend his days learning the woods and swimming in the lake and making love forever. But it was a silly wish, and he knew that. He had people to get back to, like his brother and Cas and-

Wait. Why had he thought that? Cas was right here, right behind him.

He blinked it away, passed it off as a weird little brain-fart thanks to his need for a nap, but he turned around to look just to be sure.

Cas was there alright, standing a few feet away, but something was off about him. He was stiff, standing with his shoulders slumped and a faraway look in his eye. His expression was hard, his brow furrowed in concentration, and he was as still as the trees behind him.

"Cas?" Dean called, taking a step, but his legs were suddenly so heavy he could barely move, like when he tried to run in a dream and felt like he was trying to slog his way through molasses.

Cas' eyes snapped up, suddenly sharp. "Dean," he said, and his voice was different, deep and gravelly. "Listen to me."

"What the fuck?" His head was spinning. Cas was saying something, but he couldn't make it out. Everything was going blurry. The rustling in the trees got louder and louder, growing to a deafening hiss. The cabin started to melt like it was the subject of some strange Salvador Dali painting. The ground was falling away, leaving a white expanse beneath his feet, and he fell.

He just barely had time to wonder who the hell was playing  _Back In Black_  before he slammed against something hard on his back, got the wind knocked out of him, and passed out.

The first thing he noticed was that his throat was on fire. He'd never been this thirsty in his life. Not since getting out of the Pit, anyway.

Cold horror clenched around his ribs like a tight fist. He couldn't see, and he couldn't feel anything besides the burning in his throat. It was like he was floating in water, or on a damn cloud or something, weightless, but heavy at the same time.

It was so dark, and so quiet. He tried to move, but he couldn't, like his limbs just weren't listening, and his heart started to pound.

A heartbeat was a good sigh, right?

He had to keep it together. Wherever he was, he wasn't going to get out by having a damn panic attack. He strained his mind and tried to remember.

The last memory he had was the cabin, the lake, the woods, and Cas. It was so clear, but seemed far away at the same time, like he was looking at it through binoculars. But there was something beyond that, there had to be. He could feel it when he poked at the furthest reaches of his brain, like it had all been shoved to the side to make room.

He remembered the Pit, crawling out of it, but that was a long time ago, he realized. What came after? Then there were angels, demons, Lucifer, his brother high on demon blood, Ruby and Michael and the apocalypse. It all came back like a flood: Sam's soul, the wall in his head, Crowley and Gabriel and Balthazar and the leviathans, Purgatory, Benny, Kevin and the tablets, Meg and Samandriel and the Bunker and the gates of Hell, Gadreel and Metatron and Abaddon and the Mark of Cain.

And Cas. Right in the middle of all of it was Cas.

And someone was still playing AC/DC, only now the song had shifted to  _Highway to Hell._

He latched onto the song, used it as a tether, followed it through the dark. He could start to feel himself surfacing, sensation pulsing through his body one limb at a time. He wiggled his fingertips – they were stiff and heavy, but he could do that. Then came his toes – again, they were slow, but he could feel them moving against some sort of fabric. The song got louder and louder, closer and closer. He clawed at it, desperate to come up for air. His head was pounding, his throat was on fire, his chest felt heavy, and now there were voices. One unfamiliar, the other-

Sam.

He opened his eyes, just a crack, and regretted it immediately. For a moment he wondered if he'd come to right as an angel was going nuclear two feet from his face. He squinted, and slowly, painfully slowly, things came into focus.

There was a stain on the tile above his head.  _Highway to Hell_ was still blaring somewhere to his left, and Sam was yelling.

Someone had their hands on him, on his face, shining a light in his eyes. He groaned, squinted against it because it fucking  _hurt_ , then a moment later it was gone again.

"Welcome back to the world, Mr. Winchester," that unfamiliar voice said. Sam was still going on and on, praising God or maybe cursing him, leaning into his vision, all messy hair and worried lines under his eyes.

He wanted to tell him to calm the fuck down, but his throat was so parched he couldn't get the words out.

The song switched to  _TNT_ , and Dean groaned and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Time passed like he was caught up in the worst fever dream of his life, slipping in and out of consciousness, but never dreaming. He'd close his eyes, swim in the darkness for a little while, and wake up feeling nauseous and disoriented, but a little less each time.

Finally, he woke up with that feeling of clarity that always came after a fever broke, the last few days or hours or weeks a blur and his head no longer spinning.

He was in a hospital room, he could finally see, and it made a lot of sense when he thought about it, with all the bright lights and the smell of antiseptic and the woman in the white coat who kept shining that damn pen light in his eyes.

The blinds were drawn, but it was sunny outside, with a little pink tint. Either very early in the morning or very late in the afternoon, he figured. The clock across the room read about six o'clock, and when he listened hard, he could hear birds chirping just outside his window, so he was betting on the former.

Sam was curled up in a chair next to the window, his long limbs folded awkwardly over the thinly padded arms. Dean almost wanted to smile, because he looked like a little kid trying to fit a too-big body into his favorite childhood sleeping place, but his face was covered in bruises and bandaged cuts. He was dead to the world; it was the kind of sleep a person only got when they'd stayed awake for so long their body couldn't take it anymore, and Dean couldn't quite get the smile to come.

For the moment, he pushed the memories of the cabin aside and concentrated on the last thing he could remember before that. The only thing he could bring to mind was coming to blows with Metatron in the underbelly of some warehouse, surrounded by old pipes and wires and steel. After that, there was just a big blank space. He couldn't even think of how the fight had ended.

He did remember one thing though, one big, glaring, terrifying thing that he hadn't checked on yet. He pulled his arm out from under the blankets, looked down at the skin on the wrist side.

There was a scar, in the shape of the Mark, but faded so much that he could barely make it out. And now that he thought about it, that voice in his head was gone. He had no urge to kill or maim. His head was quiet.

He let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and that was when Sam finally stirred.

His brother blinked awake, looking disoriented and still dog tired, but when his eyes settled on Dean, and he saw Dean looking back at him, he practically jumped out of that uncomfortable looking chair. "Hey," he breathed, his voice rough. "You're up."

"And kicking," Dean said. God, was that really what his voice sounded like? His throat was still dry as a bone. "Got any water?"

It took Sam a minute to realize what he was asking. Dean didn't blame him; he'd just woken up, and he looked more sleep deprived than usual. But once it had gotten through to him, Sam nodded. "Yeah, um..." He reached for a yellow plastic cup on the table by the bed. "Sorry it's not cold."

He tilted the bed forward, inch by slow inch, then brought the cup to Dean's lips, helping him drink. The water was room temperature and tasted like it had been sitting there for a while, but he didn't care when it finally brought some moisture back to his throat.

When Sam had put the cup down and sat in the chair next to him, Dean finally summoned up the willpower to ask, "Wanna fill me in, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged, hunching forward and clasping his hands together over his knees. "Where do I need to start?"

"Last thing I remember I was going toe to toe with Metadouche."

The look on Sam's face almost seemed relieved, like his brother had been secretly worried that Dean would come to and not recognize him or something. The thought brought back memories of Ben and Lisa that made his chest clench, so he pushed them away. "Okay," Sam said. "Well...the fight wasn't long. I got there right as Metatron dealt what looked like a killing blow." His face was pale, even now, remembering it. Dean pushed down the guilt that welled up inside him. "You were in pretty bad shape. Doctors weren't sure if you were gonna make it or not."

"Well, here I am," Dean said. "So if anyone was placing bets, they can go ahead and collect." He took the water again, managed to drink a little himself this time, even though some dribbled down over his chin as he did. He grimaced and wiped it off with the back of his hand as he asked, "What about Metatron?"

"Got away."

Shit. It figured. He rested his head back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. "So all of this didn't mean squat, huh?"

"Not quite." Dean looked back at him, daring to let the little spark of hope in his chest live. "Dean...when you were...I thought you were dying. I called Cas. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even know if he'd come, but...he did. I think he's the only reason you're alive." He had this fond little smile on his face as he spoke.

But Dean still had questions. "And Metatron?"

"Last I heard, Cas said Gadreel was going after him."

Well, it was something, at least. Though he wasn't sure yet if it was going to turn out for the better, or worse than before.

He barely registered a flutter of wings and a little breath of air against his side – it was Cas' voice that drew his and Sam's attention. "Gadreel is dead," he said. "And so is Metatron."

Dean stared, blinking at him. Sam was standing, mouth agape. There he was: Castiel, the angel of the Lord, trench coat and all.

"Hello, Dean," he said, his expression softening. "I'm..." He paused, like the words escaped him. Finally, the tiniest little hint of a smile slipped onto his face, and he said, "I'm glad you're alright."

"Yeah," Dean said, barely realizing he was even speaking. "You too, Cas."

It was so strange, seeing him like this. Because this was  _Cas._  This was the real Cas, the Cas he'd known for years, familiar and constipated-looking as ever. But it wasn't  _his_  Cas. It wasn't the Cas that had rubbed aloe lotion on his sunburned back or come after him in a storm or who had pouted when he'd learned the truth about snipes.

It was pointless to miss that Cas, because that Cas didn't exist, but it didn't stop him.

"They're dead?" Sam asked, bringing him back to the clusterfuck that was his reality. "Both of them?"

Cas nodded, a little solemnly. "When you called me, I was on his trail, with Gadreel's help." He pulled up a chair and sat down. Looked like it was time for Storytime with Cas. "He was weakened from the fight, fleeing back to Heaven so that he could regroup. We had him cornered, but when you told me what had happened, I..." He looked from Sam to Dean, and then back at his knuckles. "Gadreel told me to go, told me that this...here, with you two...was where I was truly needed."

"So you just let him go?" Dean asked, anger prickling at the nape of his neck. "Just to come back here?"

"Dean..." Sam said, but Dean pushed away the hand inching toward his arm.

"No, Cas, you let Metatron go, let everything we worked for go, just to save me?"

"Metatron's hand over his followers was weakening. Gadreel had been stirring up resistance against him ever since Ke-" He stopped, frowning at his hands. "Ever since he started to question the morality of what they were doing."

He took a breath, and continued, "In the end, Metatron destroyed himself. He was mad with power, Dean. Anyone could have seen that. When it really counted, nobody came to his aid, and Gadreel sacrificed everything to end him for good."

He held Dean's gaze, then something...broke. Something shifted in his eyes, and he had to look away. "I couldn't heal you," he said, in a voice so uncharacteristically soft and shaky that Dean could only stare. "I tried...but the Mark...its power was blocking me from healing your wounds. I thought...I thought it really was for nothing...that I-" He paused. "We were going to lose you..."

"So how the hell am I alive?" Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat, nodded at his arm. "The Mark of Cain," he said. "It healed you. Enough to keep you from dying right then and there, anyway. The rest was just good medicine."

"This fucking thing?" He glared at his arm. "Then is it...is it still?"

"It's gone, Dean," Cas said. "It burned out."

"Burned  _out?_ "

Cas nodded. "I don't know much more than you do. I tried to find Cain, to ask him what happened, but he's nowhere to be found. But I can't sense its influence over you anymore. Not even a trace."

"The blade is gone too," Sam said. "Burned down to ashes."

Dean sighed, resting his head back against the pillow and trying to let it all soak in. He'd slept through a lot. The thought made him realize something, and he looked back at Sam. "How long was I out?"

"About a week," Sam told him. "Your heart stopped twice before you stabilized."

"But you are alive," Cas added. "One way or another."

So that was where they stood. Abaddon and Metatron were dead, along with Gadreel; the Mark was gone and Cain was MIA, but if the First Blade was really nothing but dust now, he doubted they'd ever find him.

He just hoped to God they wouldn't have any more Knights of Hell to deal with in the near future.

Jesus, he needed a vacation.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a big, angry, stitched up wound on his chest, and he was covered in bruises and cuts from head to toe, but apparently he was some kind of medical miracle, because according to the doctor, they hadn't thought he'd make it much past the Emergency Room doors, let alone make any sort of recovery. But he was up and around, albeit at little more than a slow shuffle with his IV pole in tow, within a few days. He wouldn't be doing much in the way of exercise for a good long while, let alone hunting, but at least he could go to the bathroom by himself without having to deal a bed pan or catheter.

Sam finally left, so tired that he barely looked like he could hold himself up, and Dean could only hope that he was getting some well-deserved sleep in a real bed. He sat in the chair, looking out the window, watching a crow peck at something out of view on the landing outside. It was getting late, and the sun was setting. It looked like rain.

There was a flap of wings and a brush of air against the back of his neck, and he didn't bother looking. "So what's stopping you from patching me up so I can get out of here?" he asked.

"I think it would be good for you to get some rest," Cas told him. "And you're in good hands already."

"Yeah, well, one of the nurses was in to take my temperature at the ass crack of dawn today, so at least they're thorough."

That might have been a smile tugging at the corners of Castiel's mouth when he finally looked over at him. Dean couldn't quite be sure. He went back to watching the crow. His mind was fuzzy, and it wasn't entirely from the painkillers (though they had him on some pretty damn kickass meds).

It had all been a dream. What kind of Lifetime movie cliché was that? His own shitstorm of a life had put him in a coma, and his brain had whipped up some perfect little bubble for him to hide away in, a completely new existence where he was dating his best friend and he was actually pretty happy about it.

Who could blame him for missing it? His friends were alive in that pseudo-universe. His parents and Bobby were alive. Sammy was happy and healthy and actually enjoying his formative years. And he was dating Cas and heading to college and having meaningful life experiences that revolved around his transforming sexuality.

The silence must have dragged on forever while he was lost in his thoughts, because Cas, of all people, was the one to pick up on the fact that somebody was probably supposed to say something. "You're thinking very hard on something," he said, and Dean let himself smile a little at that. Observant as ever, this one, and just as skilled at stating the obvious.

His smile faded quickly. "I was dreaming," he murmured. "That whole damn time I was out. One big, long dream."

Cas took a step closer. "Your brain was still very much active while you were unconscious. What else did it have to do but tell itself a story?"

A story. That was rich. He was losing sleep over his brain's attempt to kill time and stave off boredom. And that was no small feat considering how drowsy his meds made him. "It felt different though. You know how...you know how in a dream, you'll be someplace and you won't remember how you got there? Like Leo DiCaprio and Ellen Page in  _Inception?_ "

"Yes, I remember that scene."

"You- Wait, you've seen  _Inception?_ "

"Not exactly, but I'm familiar with it."

Dean blinked at him, because Cas understanding pop culture references was not something he was ever going to get used to. "Yeah, well...it wasn't like that. It wasn't just some randomly generated environment that I was plopped down into. I was...I was this other me, with all these memories, like I'd been there my whole life, like I was the only  _me_  I'd ever been. I remembered all these things I never did. I remembered graduating from high school, going on family vacations with all four of us, me, Mom, Dad and Sammy...It was like I was in some whole other world, and you were there and-"

Cas' eyes snapped up at him, and he said, "You saw me?"

Dean's heart did a little jump. "What?"

"I was there. Momentarily, anyway. I tried...I tried to get through to you, but it was difficult. Even later on, when the Mark's influence had faded almost completely, you were deep in your own subconscious. Like...almost like you were in Limbo, and I couldn't reach you."

"Never seen  _Inception,_  huh?"

"I told you I was familiar with it." It was still weird. "I only broke through a couple of times, and even then, it was like I wasn't in control of my actions, like I'd been placed inside the body of another person in your dream. I could see and feel and sense everything around me, but...it was as if my vessel were being controlled by someone else."

Dean swallowed. "So...what did you see?"

"I only got snapshots," Cas sighed. "The handful of times I was able to get through to you, all I got was a flood of images and sensations that didn't make much sense to me. I remember...rain, and the smell of aloe, and..."

He trailed off, and Dean could have sworn he saw the guy  _blush_  as he looked away. "And?"

"And...pleasure," Cas finished, gaze locked on a tile next to Dean's foot. It was much the same look he'd had on his face when Dean had asked him how he was going to spend his last night on Earth before the apocalypse, the night they went to meet Chastity.

"But Cas, you were  _there,_ " Dean told him. "I mean, not  _you_ , you, but...a different you. You were human and...and young, and we were...It was just the two of us, nobody else around for miles..." Now it was his turn to let his sentence fade into silence. What the hell was he supposed to say?  _So in my dream, we spent a week doing nothing but fucking and watching the stars like something out of a cheesy HBO miniseries?_

Instead, to fill the silence, he said, "Do you think your dreams can ever...I don't know, tell you things?"

"I don't dream, Dean. I wouldn't know."

"Well sure, but you did when you were human, right?"

Cas shrugged. "A few times. They faded so quickly when I woke up that I could never remember them."

"But do you think that if...I don't know, if there was something you didn't want to admit to yourself...Do you think your dreams could..." He stopped, because it sounded so ridiculous that he couldn't stand to hear himself talk anymore. What the hell was he saying, asking Cas about subconscious desires and messages in dreams? He was starting to sound like Freud, or one of those preachy psychologists that appeared on daytime talk shows.

But all Cas said was, "The human mind is a strange thing." At the very least, Dean had to agree with him there.

There was something hanging in the silence between them, something that still needed saying, but Dean didn't have any more words and Cas seemed to feel like he'd overstayed his welcome for the moment, and he started to turn. "You should rest, Dean," he said. "You've been through enough. Let yourself heal."

But Dean stood up as Cas was leaving, because he had one more question, one that had been burning at the back of his mind since he'd started thinking clearly again, and he wasn't about to let Cas leave before he could ask it. "Hey Cas," he said, and Cas turned to face him. "You ever heard of a snipe?"

Cas squinted. "A what?"

"A snipe," Dean said, taking a step toward him with his IV pole in tow. "It's a...a little bird. A little, pudgy, brown bird with...with these beady black eyes. Lives in the woods."

"There's no such bird as a snipe, Dean," Cas said, brow furrowed. Dean was smiling, and he wasn't quite sure why, still taking step after shuffling step toward Cas.

It had started to rain outside. "Nah, there is. You've just never seen one."

"Dean, I watched the evolution of every species of bird over the ages. There's no such thing as a snipe, unless it's some kind of colloquial term for a local species of wren or maybe some kind of finch, then I-"

Dean kissed him.

He couldn't not. He had that look on his face, that squint of concentration with his brow all knitted up and his forehead creased in confusion. It was exactly the same as the one the other Cas had worn; real or fake or dreamed up or whatever, it was a look that was so memorable and so perfectly  _Cas_  that it seemed to sum up his whole existence. So Dean kissed him, because it was goddamn  _adorable_ , and because even if he wasn't the Cas from his dream, he was still Cas, just the same as ever, and it seemed like the right, most natural thing to do.

Cas was stiff, barely moved, didn't even close his eyes from what Dean could tell when he pulled away, and he stood there, with his lips just a breath away from Castiel's, breathing hard and growing more and more sure that his face was beet red.

"Sorry," he said.

"For what?" Cas tilted his head to the left, looking at him with that confused, curious-bird look and making Dean want to kiss him all over again. But he resisted this time.

"Probably should have asked first."

He was halfway through the sentence when he realized that Cas' face was flushed too.

"Then ask now," he said.

Dean could barely get a breath in. "Can I do that again?"

"Absolutely."

So he did.

This time, Cas actually kissed back, and as inexperienced as he presumably was for all his years of existence, it was no shy virgin kiss. Cas kissed him like he had in his dream, all possessive and needy, arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him in closer, deeper. Dean grimaced when he tried to return the favor and the movement tugged on his IV, and he rolled his eyes and held him with just the one hand instead.

He plunged himself headfirst into it, his mind reeling and going blank of everything except the lightning bolts of sensation that were coursing over his skin, Cas' scent filling his nostrils with every hurried breath – rain and aloe and pollen. His stubble scratched against Dean's skin, over his cheeks and jaw, rough and addictive. It left him feeling almost dizzy, but hungry for more, because he'd denied himself this for so damn long it was shameful. He'd gone so long pretending this part of him didn't exist at all, and letting Cas see it – letting anyone see it – had been a problem for another day. They'd had bigger things to worry about. But now, even if it was sure not to last, they had a moment to breathe, and Dean was tired of waiting, tired of sacrificing, tired of pretending he didn't want things.

Because he could have lost this. He  _had_  lost this. Cas had died for them, endured torture for them, betrayed them and sacrificed everything trying to redeem himself. There was no way of knowing how long this quiet would last. They could die tomorrow. They could always die tomorrow. He should have died a week ago, but he was here, and he was damn sure going to take advantage of it.

By the time the kiss ended, they were both breathless, and Dean had to admit he was a little smug about that, being able to get a mojo'd-up Cas panting and red in the face when he normally didn't even need to breathe at all. It took a moment or two for him to come down from floating on his little cloud and feel the reality of what had happened hit him like a brick to the face.

Cas seemed to notice the shift, because his grip on Dean's arm tightened to steady him as he wobbled. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm...I think I should sit down..."

He was  _not_  about to faint after kissing his best friend like he had. That was the last thing he needed on top of everything else. But the room was starting to spin a little, and his head felt way too light for its own good, so he sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. He could hardly blame himself; hell, he'd just woken up from a damn coma a few days ago, and between the medications and the emotional maelstrom that was swirling between his ears, he was frankly surprised the dizziness passed as quickly as it did.

Cas sat down beside him, his hand on Dean's shoulder and his face such a stoic mask that if Dean hadn't been there, he would never have known that Cas had just kissed him back for all he was worth, hanging onto him like he could disappear forever if he let go.

"I'm sorry," Cas said. "I shouldn't have let you exert yourself like that."

Dean had to laugh, because he didn't usually think of kissing as anything that required any kind of exertion, but thinking about it now, he did feel drained and heavy. It had taken a lot out of him, and not just because he was still recovering from a good deal of blood loss.

But even if he was sitting and had already caught his breath, his mind wouldn't stay still. This was big. This was different. And this wasn't a dream, at least he didn't think it was. He hoped it wasn't. He'd had enough of that for a while. But there was no going back. Things were going to be different now, one way or another, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it yet.

"So...what do we do now?" Dean asked, addressing himself as much as he was Cas.

Cas squinted at him in that Castiel-ish way of his. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...us...this...what do we do?"

After thinking a moment, Cas said, "We move forward, like we always do." Dean looked over at him, trying to work out just what the hell he meant, and Cas took a little breath before continuing. "Metatron is dead, as is Abaddon. The Mark of Cain is gone, and so is the First Blade. For the moment, the imminent threat has dwindled. But there are still angels on earth and Heaven is in shambles. My Grace is stable enough for the time being, but there's no telling how long that will last. And as much as you might have considered him a tenuous ally during these last few trying months, Crowley is ruling Hell again, and how that's going to turn out remains to be seen."

"I know all that," Dean said. "Cas, I'm not talking about...about the job or the state of Heaven or Hell or whatever. I'm talking about...us. You know...our...our thing."

"As am I." When Dean didn't reply, Cas smiled – honest to god  _smiled_ – and put a hand on Dean's knee. It was such a simple little gesture, but Cas did it with such reverence, his touch gentle and his gaze locked with Dean's and searching for the slightest hint of discomfort. But Dean didn't give any. The touch was nice. It felt...well, at the risk of sounding like a young adult coming-of-age novel, it felt  _right._  Comfortable.

"Dean," Cas said, "It seems you're under the impression that this is going to change our relationship."

He tried to pretend his stomach didn't plummet to his feet at that. Was Cas saying he didn't want this to mean anything, that he just wanted to keep being friends? Jesus, was he getting  _friendzoned_ by an angel? As much as he hated the phrase, that was sure what it felt like.

"I kinda did think that, yeah," he admitted. As determined as he was to keep his dignity intact, he was feeling more and more like he was back in high school being rejected by Becca Jones all over again. This was more than a fumbled invitation to the freshmen ice cream social, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach was the same.

"Dean..." Cas said his name like nobody else did, like it tasted sweet and he wanted to savor it. And when Dean looked up again, forcing himself to meet Cas' gaze because he deserved that much at least, he was looking at him that way again.

He had that look in his eyes. The same one from the dream.

"I pulled you out of Hell," Cas continued, his tone as gentle as his touch. "I've seen your soul, held it myself. And over the years, I've been lucky enough to have you as one of my closest friends. Don't you think that's spectacular? That a human can hold the attention of a being who's been alive for long enough to watch your species crawl out of the mud...You should really give yourself more credit."

Dean wondered if he was on stronger drugs than he realized. "So...what are you saying?" he asked. "And use small words, okay? I'm still pretty doped up."

Cas smiled a tiny little smile and moved his hand from Dean's leg to the side of his face, cradling his jaw in his palm. "Our relationship doesn't have to change, Dean. Everything we started with, everything we've built, it's still there. It doesn't need to go away. When you want to add a second floor to a house, you don't tear up the foundation. You just add to what's already there."

"So...you do want to do this?" Dean asked. "You and me?"

"Whatever... _this_  is. Yes."

Dean hadn't realized he'd been holding in a breath, but it came rushing out of him right then. He wasn't sure where to go from here, how he would tell Sam, if Cas was going to stay in the Bunker with them or hunt with them, but it all seemed so small on the horizon that he couldn't bring himself to worry about it.

Cas stood, his fingers slipping from Dean's skin slowly, lingering until the last possible moment. "You should rest, Dean," he said. "I'll be back when you've gotten some sleep."

Dean sat there, trying to mull it all over, and he turned to Cas one last time as he prepared to take off. "Hey Cas," he called, and Cas turned. "Are we...are we dating?"

Cas' brow knit together as he thought about it. "I suppose that is the custom, isn't it? Then again, we've never really held to things like that in the past, have we?"

"No," Dean said, "Guess not."

"We could try. If you'd like."

Dean thought about it, tried to picture the two of them making small talk over the table at some fancy restaurant with a candle and a basket of bread between them. The image was too ridiculous, and he waved it away. "Nah," he said. "Dating is overrated. Just..."

Just promise you'll come back, he wanted to say. But instead, he swung his feet up onto the bed and drew the covers up to his belly. "Just bring me a get well card or something when you come back, alright? It's common courtesy."

That little smile was back, so small he barely saw it. "If it will speed your recovery, I will, Dean."

And then, poof, he was gone.

* * *

It didn't take long to settle into it, and that on its own was enough to make Dean feel off-kilter. He wasn't used to things being easy, feeling natural, but when Cas came back the next day and kissed him on the cheek like that was just what people did, it felt like they'd been doing it forever.

They sort of had, or that was what it felt like to Dean anyway. He'd only experienced a week of it in his dream, but there had been more of it tucked away in his false memories. Those had almost entirely faded now, the way dreams tended to do after a while, but he could still remember everything that had happened at the cabin as clearly as he'd been able to days ago.

Part of him hoped it would blur in his mind and slowly fade away, because it wasn't right to dwell on something that had never been real in the first place. He'd seen firsthand how dangerous that could be in his encounters with djinn and the like, but while he still recalled it so vibrantly, it was hard not to. Another part of him didn't want to lose those memories, because real or not, they seemed precious, somehow. He'd never have a perfect little getaway like that in this life – and that wasn't him being cynical; it was the stone-cold truth with their lives the way they were – so he wanted to cling to those memories as hard as he could, to have another happy place to go back to in his mind. There were so few of those.

But inevitably, by the time he was  _finally_ discharged, the dream started to melt away.

It started with the little things, like the title of the book Cas had been reading or the name of the school his other self had been headed to in the fall. Then he realized he couldn't remember the flavor of condom they'd brought – he thought it was blueberry, but that didn't sound right – and the subjects of the paintings on the walls of the cabin.

Then he forgot the lake, found himself wondering where they'd been going all those times they'd hiked down the slate-paved path in the woods because all there was at the end of the trail was a big blank spot. He forgot how the cabin was laid out, whether it had been a sofa or a loveseat in the living room, what the bedroom had looked like, how small the bathroom was. He forgot the names of the constellations they'd created that clear warm night on the grass.

He didn't think about it often, but when he found his mind wandering back there, he started feeling inexplicably sad because every time there was more and more blank space and fewer trees. The cicadas got quieter and quieter until he could barely hear them at all.

They went back to the Bunker on a Sunday, and Dean knew it was a Sunday because they passed a little church on the way back just as the crowds were filtering out after their morning service. Cas didn't ride with them, but he was waiting there when they arrived, standing by the door in that coat of his, as casual as if he were waiting for the bus.

Dean hauled himself out of the passenger's seat. "You could've let me drive," he told Sam.

"You just got out of the hospital," Sam said, like that settled it without question.

"Which exactly why I should've driven her. We've been apart too long. You don't come between a-"

"A man and his car, I know, I know." Sam had this little smile on his face, and Dean resented it. He was not that predictable. Never mind that it had been exactly what he'd been about to say. Sam just headed for the door and added, "If you weren't feeling up to fighting me for the keys, you weren't feeling up to driving."

Dean rolled his eyes, but Sam did toss him the keys, at least. Dean pocketed them, reverently, enjoying having their weight back in his side pocket.

Cas didn't say much as they went inside. Nobody questioned it. He belonged there, plain and simple.

Still, Dean mulled over what was going to happen now. Once he was back to one-hundred percent, they'd start looking for leads again, finding information on Crowley and the angels who were still roaming around on terra firma. But for now, he wondered how this was going to work, with all three of them sharing a roof.

He hadn't told Sam yet. He hadn't felt like there was a need to. Cas had been right, almost creepily so. It was almost like nothing had changed between them. It didn't feel any different, really, aside from the kisses and the touches, Cas was the same old Cas, and he was the same old Dean. It wasn't that he was scared to tell Sam, it was just that there was nothing to report.

That, and he wasn't entirely sure how to bring it up.

Luckily, Sam gave him a segue without even realizing it. "Guess we'll need to set you up a room, huh?" he asked, turning to Cas. "I mean, if you're going to be staying..."

"I plan on it," Cas said, and he looked back at Dean before turning to Sam again. "If you two will have me."

Sam smiled. "Course we will. Right, Dean?" He had one eyebrow arched expectantly, like he was waiting for Dean to try and kick Cas out again so he could fight him on it. But Dean didn't have any plans of the sort this time.

"Of course he's staying." He looked at Cas and found him with that little half-smile tugging on his lips again. "But ah...he doesn't need a room, Sammy."

"It's true," Cas said. "I don't need to sleep. There's really no need for-"

"No, I mean...He'll uh...he'll be bunking with me." And just to drive his point home – to both of them – he reached out and laced his fingers together with Castiel's.

God help him, be blushed as he did, as much as he tried to force it back.

He made himself look up and meet Sam's eye, finding him with a face that was the absolute picture of surprise, eyebrows raised, lips parted. "Oh," he said. And then again, as he smiled. "Oh."

"Yeah,  _oh,_ " Dean mumbled, Cas still holding fast to his hand. "So...you know...no need for a room. Unless he wants one anyway."

He looked over at Cas, who met his gaze. "It's alright," he said. "I think I'm perfectly happy like this."

And damn it all, Dean was too.

* * *

Sam adjusted to their new relationship status just as easily as either of them had, and Dean was glad for that. There were no awkward conversations about what this would mean or how it would change things. Sam didn't seem to worry about any of that the way Dean had, which pissed him off a little on some level, because he wasn't used to being the more touchy-feely sibling when it came to his emotions.

It took a long time for him to recover, but he got better each day, feeling stronger, sleeping better, getting his appetite back – and then some.

Cas didn't always spend the night in the Bunker. He investigated where he could, searching out lost angels allied to his cause. There were more every day. Ever since Metatron had gone down, it seemed word was spreading about who was really at fault for them losing their wings. Cas had yet to forgive himself for being duped into expelling them from Heaven, but Dean hoped that it would come with time.

The nights that he did spend there, he stayed in Dean's room, and lay beside him while he slept. Dean wondered what Cas did for all those hours that he was out. Angels didn't need to sleep, but did that really mean they couldn't? He didn't let it keep him awake at night, because Cas was always there when he woke up, and that was the more important thing, really.

Research was usually more of Sam's thing, but Dean pitched in where he could while his wounds were still healing up. He was hunched over a thick tome about ancient witch spells in Anglo-Saxon lore, trying to find any connections to some possible witch activity in the area one evening a week or so after getting back from the hospital. It was the driest thing he'd ever read, and he'd had to write a report on the  _Iliad_  in high school.

Inevitably, he wound up using the book as a pillow, and he just barely stirred when someone draped a blanket over his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple. The stubble rasping against his skin told him exactly who it was, and he tried halfheartedly to reach out and tug him back, but he dozed off again mid-attempt and Cas slipped out of reach.

There were voices drifting in from just outside the room, and even half-asleep he could make out Sam's voice. "His back always aches when he falls asleep hunched over like that."

"He'll be alright," Cas said. "He'll come to bed before too long."

He could practically  _hear_  Sam smile. "I've been waiting a long time for this, you know. For him to get his head out of his ass and finally make a move."

"I waited quite a while too." Cas' tone was almost wistful. "But we had bigger things to worry about. I assumed that if he wanted it, he'd tell me when he was ready. And to be honest, I hardly thought I deserved it."

"You do, you know. You guys deserve each other."

God, Sam was just as cheesy as ever. His brother was a hopeless romantic.

"Besides," Sam added, "You're one of the few people that can put up with him."

That sounded more accurate.

It was what Cas sounded next that really threw him for a loop. "You said that we deserve each other. I still don't feel like I do. But somehow, even after everything I've done, the powers that be have seen fit to let me find some semblance of happiness. And I'm not about to...what's the phrase? Look a gift horse in the mouth."

Sam chuckled, then said, "Well, whether you deserve it or not, you're in it now. And for what it's worth, I meant it."

"Thank you, Sam."

"Just make sure he doesn't forget that, okay?"

"I won't."

They might have kept talking, but Dean wasn't sure, because their footsteps faded and soon they were out of earshot. He sat up, wiping the drool from his mouth and rubbing his eyes.

So Cas didn't think he deserved this, huh? That didn't surprise him, and that fact made something heavy settle in his chest. But maybe Cas didn't deserve it. Maybe neither of them did.

But so what? After all the shit they'd been through, they damn sure should have deserved something good. But even if they didn't, Dean was going to fight with everything he had to keep it, now that he had it. He'd almost lost Sam and Cas both, and he wasn't about to let that happen any time soon.

He was nothing if not stubborn.

He wasn't going to lose this again. They'd take anything that came their way, all three of them: Dean and Sam and Cas. Team Free Will. He smiled when he remembered that name. It had been nothing but a bitter joke in the beginning, but now, he could feel himself starting to warm up to it.

Who knew what the future would hold? Whatever it had in store, they'd figure it out. They'd find a way to fix Cas' stolen Grace if they had to, and they'd deal with Heaven and Hell both when the time came.

Later, though. Right now, he was tired.

Cas was waiting for him in bed, naked under the sheets. Dean didn't say anything as he stripped down bare and slid in next to him. "M'still not used to this," he murmured against the nape of Cas' neck. "Don't know if I'll ever be."

"Truth be told, I feel the same," Cas said. He rolled over, so they were facing each other, their noses almost brushing. "That might have scared me once, but it doesn't anymore. That has to count for something, don't you think?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I guess." He scooted forward that last little bit and pressed a kiss to Cas' lips. As soon as he pulled away, a laugh forced itself from his throat, because it was just so odd, the two of them cuddled up like this, kissing so tenderly like they'd been doing it for ages. But it felt so good that he didn't want to stop.

It took him a moment or two to realize that he was  _happy._

His life wasn't exactly one that anyone would envy. They seemed to jump from one disaster to the next with little time to recuperate in between. He'd forgotten what it even felt like to catch a break. But there were always times, even in the middle of all the shit, when he found time to feel happy. They came few and far between, and there hadn't been many lately, but he was happy driving down a long stretch of road with his brother in the passenger's seat and classic rock playing on the radio, or finding the time to sit down and eat a good burger at one of the nicer diners on the road – even better if it was one he made himself. He was happy falling into his own bed after finding the time to put clean sheets on, or enjoying a nice, long shower to soothe his sore muscles.

And he was happy now, letting his hands roam down Cas' back, thinking about how much rougher around the edges this Cas was compared to the younger Cas in his dream. That Cas had been lithe and skinny, all lean muscle and smooth, unblemished skin. Cas had lines on his face and scars on his hands, and whether they belonged to the angel or to Jimmy, Dean wasn't really sure.

But this was the face he associated with Cas, with his Cas, even if it wasn't technically his "real" one. His Cas wasn't eighteen and fresh out of high school; he was probably closer to eighteen million or more, and Dean wondered if angels even had anything analogous to a childhood at all. His Cas was  _old_ , and powerful, and the body he lived in now was hard.

In more ways than one, Dean noticed.

He let his hand wander, feeling Cas let out a breath against his collar bone as it did. "Dean," he said, and there was an urgency crackling at the edges of his voice, making all the heat in Dean's body rush south.

They hadn't...since Dean had woken up. There had been touching, and kissing, and Dean slept naked more often than not. Cas hadn't seen a problem with that, since clothes were a manmade invention anyway, and he'd been around far longer than they had. So nakedness didn't bother him, whether it was his own or someone else's.

Dean liked the closeness, the skin on skin contact. And it seemed to be growing on Cas too.

But they hadn't had any kind of sex. At first it had been out of the question as Dean recovered from his injuries. Then it faded into other reasons; even after everything that had happened in his dream, and everything that Cas had said to reassure him, there was still a little part of him that insisted that this was big and scary and unknown. And somehow, ridiculous as it sounded, he felt just like he had back in that other life, like giving this to Cas was going to change things.

"You guys deserve each other," Sam had said. And dammit, who was he to question a guy as smart as he was?

"Are you-" Cas started to say, but Dean all but slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Don't ask me if I'm sure, Cas," he said. "I'm not a damn blushing virgin, okay?"

Cas closed his mouth, eying him carefully and staying still as a damn glacier. And Dean fumbled with his words after that. "But I mean...I am. Just in case you were wondering. And this...you know, what I'm doing..." It took him a moment to realize that his hand wasn't moving at all, fingers just wrapped around Cas' dick and staying there. It couldn't be comfortable, but Cas didn't try to move him. He barely even blinked at it.

At least until Dean started moving his hand again. Cas' head tilted back, and he let out a groan that was positively pornographic. And damn, Dean wanted to make him do that again, so he leaned forward to press a kiss to Cas' neck.

Everything happened so fast after he did that it left him almost dizzy. One moment his lips were dragging across Cas' stubble, and the next, he was on his back with his wrists pinned against the pillows on either side of his head. Cas was straddling him, hard and panting and rutting against his erection, and something was blazing in those eyes of his, something hot and possessive.

It faded into bewilderment and worry a moment later. "I'm sorry," he said, starting to pull his hands away. "I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to force you-"

Dean laughed when he was halfway through that sentence. "Jesus, Cas," he breathed, "You're not forcing me into anything. And for the love of fuck, just...keep going."

"You're s-"

"Yes, I'm sure, okay? C'mon, man, can't you tell from this?" He pushed his hips up, his dick bumping against Castiel's. Cas' hands, meanwhile, had migrated down to Dean's ribs, fingers skimming over them. Dean shivered, missing the hold on his wrists and keeping his arms up where they were, hoping Cas would hold them again.

He didn't have a bondage kink, really. But God, seeing Cas lose it like that, it was something else. It was something that Dean wanted to see again and again. He'd never wanted to be responsible for someone's orgasm more.

"Cas..." he said, softer this time, because Cas was still holding back, like Dean was fragile and he'd break if Cas wasn't careful. Dean couldn't blame him, really – the guy broke a lot of things he touched. "Buddy...m'not gonna snap in two."

He moved his hand, reaching up with every intention of resting it on Cas' shoulder, but somehow his palm wound up cupping Cas' jaw instead. Cas leaned into it, just the tiniest little bit, and he sighed, gently lacing his fingers with Dean's and pressing Dean's hands back against the pillow again before leaning down to kiss him.

He'd thought it would be awkward, or that it would take getting used to, that it would be different from sex with other people because this was  _Cas_ grinding down against him. But just like so many other things that had happened lately, there was nothing even close to weird about it.

Cas chased away all of his racing thoughts with a slow, burning kiss, moving his hips and pressing against him, pinning him beneath his body. He should have felt trapped, closed in, claustrophobic, but he was anything but. Cas' hands against his palms and thighs locked around Dean's hips made him feel  _protected_ more than anything else.

Cas' kisses moved down to his jaw, and then his neck, and even farther, until Dean squirmed. "C'mon, man," he said, his voice shaking more than he would have cared to admit. But Cas' grip on him was like iron, and he was going nowhere. He was hard and throbbing against Cas' stomach as Cas worked his way down, inch by inch, and all the while he still held Dean's arms back above his head.

He kissed the jagged scar on his chest, and all the cuts and bruises that had almost healed. His hands slipped from Dean's wrists so that his fingers could dance along his ribs, almost cradling him, thumbs stroking reverently against his hip bone. Dean let out what he could only call a whimper, shaky and breathless, and Cas glanced up at him, eyes damn near gleaming in the low light.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft and gentle. It was the kind of tenderness that only Cas could pull off, as much as Dean wasn't used to hearing it from him. With those eyes on him and those hands resting on the soft flesh of his waist, his couldn't help but shiver.

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, and it was surprisingly true.

"Good." Cas never took his eyes off of him, even as he pressed a kiss to Dean's stomach. "Because you should already know I don't do things halfway." Now he looked down as he ran his hands over Dean's skin, watching his fingers as they moved, like he was trying to commit every freckle and hair to memory. Dean wondered if he already had. "I'm an angel, Dean. And we were built to do one thing better than any other creature in existence."

Dean raised an eyebrow, resisted the urge to make a crude joke; the words just wouldn't come out of his throat anyway. He drew another shaky breath. Finally, he managed to choke out, "What's that?"

Cas' eyes darted up again, catching his gaze. "Love," he said. All of a sudden, he looked sheepish, chewing on the inside of his lip as his thumbs stroked back and forth over Dean's healing scar. "And if we do this, there won't be any going back. I'll love you fiercely, Dean, and I'm not going to stop."

"I'll buy a helmet," Dean told him, his pulse racing even as he smirked. Cas didn't smile back.

"I mean it," he said. "I don't think you realize...we were made with enough capacity to love the whole of humanity with a passion you could barely understand. For that to be focused on one single person-"

"I think I can take it, Cas."

Cas sighed, and then he said those words again: "Are you sure?"

Dean didn't have to think about that one. He'd wondered about it enough. For most of his life, he hadn't had time to ask himself that question, and not many people had bothered to ask it for him. It had never mattered whether or not he was sure – he just did, whatever it was. He and Sam both. As much as he wished it could be different, for both of them, he couldn't change it now.

But Cas was asking that question, and he needed an answer. Dean had one already, but he waited until he'd reached down and tugged Cas back up to eye level before he answered the only way he possibly could.

"I'm stronger than I look, Cas," he said. "Bring it on."


End file.
